


Broken Things

by mrhiddles



Category: Norse Mythology, Thor (2011), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Angst, Banishment, Brothers, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Relationships, M/M, Norse Myths & Legends, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Slash, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform, Vikings, Violence, War, Worldbuilding, psuedo incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor witnessed Loki end a war only to invoke another, and Odin banished them both for it. A twisted greedy thing resides on the seat of Hlidskjalf. Viking AU, Thorki, heavily inlaid with the Norse mythos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Banishment or Blood Eagle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I have some explaining to do.
> 
> This is a minor AU, in regard to the slight altering of mythic events. The stealing of Idunn and the killing of Thiazi, in this story, have happened within a year on Jotunheim. As well as the cheering of Skadi in order to flee (though she was also persuaded by Loki’s magic). Loki did all of this, by the pressure of Odin first and foremost, this part being slightly inspired by the book Loki by Mike Vasich. I want to make clear that Odin is a liar as much as Loki is, he will scheme deaths to have plentiful armies come Ragnarok. Thor was there to witness the killing of Thiazi, though he was not involved in it. Laufey was also present, and now takes up the mantle of leader that Thiazi held. Laufey is male, like in the comics, and is still Loki’s father. Will be eventual Thorki. Will be a multichaptered fic.
> 
> Please review, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I know this is pretty different from what I’ve previously submitted, but it has quickly become a personal favorite.
> 
> CHAPTERS EDITED BEGINNING 12/16/14.

_You were made of chalk and dust and broken things. Your ribs ripped apart and bent back to lie open to the world. The white of your skewed limbs and the paleness of your already burnt cheeks stark amid the black night around you. A dark born thing and yet still ever so pale. The way your were hollow and the trembling quiver of your brow held only sorrow above quivering lashes. You were the picture of utter anguish. You were afraid, amongst this set of white death and perpetual light when only you wanted darkness. You wanted an end. You wanted everything for nothing._

_But you were made of broken things. And rarely do the broken receive._

\--

There were countless lines of thin, fine thread between them that told the tale of how utterly _wrong_ their fates truly were. Thousands of year's worth of time, and what had they to show for it, but a few trinkets weighed in gold and gems? What the great, ancient, ever young gods did not already have buried deep inside their oak chests of fur and hung on racks of steel and wood?

Shame. They'd returned with shame heavy on their backs and seeping through their arms, it was so very thick. As the single eye of their father bore down upon them, judging, always forever judging, he wondered even had they returned with Dwarven steel would they be pardoned? Not this time.

So they were left with a choice, after what seemed to be many a year being looked down upon by their father, their King.

Banishment or the Blood Eagle.

Most were not faced with such a choice, and rarely was such a thing thrust on _two_ of the royally inherited. A prince and a brother.

In the corner of the room stood Balder. A bright spot amidst a black hall, a hall too dark with memories.

Oh, why had he satisfied his brother, his not-brother, by accompanying him to Jotunheim, to Svartalfheim? They would all suffer for what they had invoked.

Not even had the Jotnar arrived for peace talks would Asgard be pleased. Nothing was left to invoke kindness from that bitter gaze bearing down on them both. Nothing to allow them an escape. Not even Frigga's motherly smile, wifely touch, could bring the strike of leniency upon their heads, had she had any left of herself to give. For they had wronged, and greatly had they done so. Wronged far, far too much for even their Queen, their mother, was removed. Even she wanted nothing to do with them. Only watched as her husband sentenced her two not-children to certain demise.

But perhaps that was simply his own mind parading in a circle.

Oh, how many wrongs were left in the world?

Too many deaths provoked by their actions.

Too far gone was the situation for Odin Allfather. The man they called father was no longer present. Here be Grímr, Ginnarr, Hoarr, Hrafnáss, and possibly most condemning of all, Loki saw the form of Odin Viðurr. For this man had killed, had screamed and died and drank to know the many ways of doing so, and so much more, and lived on through it all.

And how he did judge them then.

“You've ruined the political alliances we have so carefully fought to reconstruct after the war. Never have relations been this tense, not since the war with the Vanir I should like to think, so many eons past.”

Here Odin paused, looking out to silently assess all Vanir who were privileged enough to have been allowed to attend. “Jotunheim is forever lost to us, you rash fools, the both of you.”

The last part, however quietly added, was there, and Loki saw how it burned Thor beside him so deeply. His long hair hid his face, his embarrassment and anger, but Loki had no such trick. He was open and forced to witness every miniscule fleck of fury and desperate disappointment that crossed Odin's face. The expected removal of their individual headdresses left him clutching at the curved helm adorned with curling bone at his side, the metal slick under his moist palm. He'd never been more pleased to have mastered such a blank expression, for that was the only thing offering him such cover. The fact that Thor visibly flinched when next Odin spoke was the only thing that kept his own temper in check, kept his head level.

He'd been so wary, for so long, of his brother's unfortunate mistakes. Afraid of that inevitable time there would be no escape from Odin's wrath. Always, he'd been dragged down, pulled by the weight of that not-brotherhood. That ruse. Another lie among many he was made to keep, for his own pleasure, and the safety of others. Though he had never been in the same position as Thor, equal to everything that Odin was unleashing in reward and punishment alike. Alone, always alone. Never had he been whipped beside Thor, words though the lash held. He'd been whipped, always, alone.

Loki very nearly wished it were the true whip that was cutting them both so raw and bloody.

"You've brought down the hatred of our kind by those who inhabit the mountainous caverns of the cold to a level deeper even than Hel itself. I wonder it has not breached mighty Yggdrasil's roots already." A moment of staring, in which Odin tightened strong fingers along the shaft of his spear, Gungnir. "A bird of prey is dead because of your deeds. And another lies in wait, watching Asgard like the towering spine he is."

Thor, foolish, ever stupid Thor, raised his eyes to grasp the barest look at his father, and tried in vain to speak. "Father, we—"

"Boy!" he roared, the room shaking. "You have brought down the songs of Winter on us all!"

A nervous muttering broke out as Thor quieted, subdued, realizing his mistake too late. Just as he had the others, as was his way with all things. One does not talk out of turn in court, and certainly not the King's own son, favored though he may be.

Loki had known and understood this danger far longer than Thor had. Perhaps the Thunderer was finally realizing that a life, to Odin, was nothing grander than the smallest leaf under many others. Easily lost. Easily crushed. Easily forgotten. No matter it be his own son whose life was being considered. It was just another thread. Loki almost felt the way Thor's shoulders fell, cowed by his father's well known fury. Saw out the corner of his eye the way he bit his lip, nearly hidden by his hair even from Loki.

Several of the muttering attendee's voices rose and almost instinctually, Loki focused on listening to the voices wavering around him, their tones and lilts and ways of breathing. He heard their pleas, their fears, their hopes, their judgment. He'd had enough of that. Their easy way of condemning and hating had always been as easily thrown at him as was their blind trust of their Thunderer.

Look at him now, the golden fool.

"They will not sing, my King," Loki spoke smoothly. "For you have stolen their words. Or have you forgotten?"

Beside him, Loki felt Thor's barely trembling shoulder press firmly against his for a moment. A warning. Loki caught the very slightest hint of the way Thor's thoughts sifted about his head, nearly praying in his desire to simply _stop all this_.

Above him, having nowhere else for his ever bright eyes to retreat, he saw the agitation reach its zenith in Odin's one eye, the terribly fine arch of his brow. He mused he even heard the muted pop of knuckles against spear. Careful, lest he allow his magics strain too far.

"Silence, boy. Or would you have me take your words as well?"

He'd expected this. "I would have you allow us to right where we have irrevocably wronged."

Another collection of mutterings from those gathered. _Dare he ask such a thing? How does the second prince_ dare _to challenge his father so? Loki deserves this punishment, not Thor, not our crown prince…_

"How fix you what is already broken?" Odin asked, after the muttering had died down somewhat.

_For you are a broken thing..._

"Midgard, great Farmoguðr. I would see us sent to Midgard. There are wars brewing along their seas and they seek an end through prayer, for their temples are burned whilst they are still in their beds."

It was not a lie. Not a great one. The mortals _were_ praying, and it edged along the fine line of annoyance at times, especially when trying to claim sleep. The only reason _he_ heard them at all was because he oftentimes let his focus wander. Meditation allowed for many a thing to be channeled. Odin and Heimdall knew. He knew. Thor knew to an extent, as did others, but that was by word of mouth. There was opposition to those who would worship them, the Nine Realms, warriors who fought for the honor of reaching Valhalla. The opposition came in preachers and tomes and old men who rattled on about a single god who allowed no one thing to go unjudged.

It was the surest way to escape whatever judgment would befall them this day. Save the mortals Odin once so cherished since his and his brothers' creation of them, and have his favor enough to be pardoned. Temporarily.

Again, another touch of Thor's shoulder. This time seemed not as much a dire warning, rather it was in acquiescence or encouragement. Perhaps even an accident made in overbearing relief in the turn in conversation. Whatever it was, Odin did not look upon it kindly.

"I am aware of their strife, Trickster." This was said as quietly as before, so only Loki and Thor, and possibly even Frigga heard.

"Trickster I may be, but in times of war, however brought on, we must look to our most clever for a beneficial outcome. I would see us have the mortals on our side when the Jotnar march upon Asgardian soil, as others will no doubt follow soon thereafter."

Pleasingly, Odin seemed unable to answer for a long moment as he regarded the man he'd allowed to be raised alongside his son, one of many, all these many millennia. For a flash of an instant, Loki saw the fear of Muspelheim in his one eye and then it was replaced by quiet recollection.

Perhaps he was thinking he should have killed Loki where he stood, along with his parents when he was but a child. Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed the sorrowful, angry Jotun child be raised as a mock Aesir under the same warm-cored stars that sparkled amidst their unique dustings of nebulae. Perhaps he should have left him to wither away in the cold and dark of Winter along with the rest of the dying Songs as so many of his kind already had, gazing upon the hard pricks of ice drifting high above them in a glacial sky with its many moons.

"I wish not for complete disavowal of the banishment we deserve, I only desire a prolonging of the inevitable fate we each must one day face. We will need all possible allies we can hope to gain." Loki was sure then that if he had high horns they would curl at every word he spoke, as he'd be pleased to see.

Odin's silence reigned and Loki fought to temper his smile.

Beside their king father, Frigga looked ready to wail and beat hands upon her chest in contempt, silent and severe though her eyes were. Balder looked deflated, wary, suspicious as he always was. No doubt he'd be in his gardens later, sniffing flowers and seducing birds to flap pretty wings for his distraction. His handsome face twisted in a smile meant to hide all manner of darkened thought within his soul. Never would the pure one be a warfarer. Never an ironmonger.

Not as Thor was a warrior with red blood thick and hot in his skull, and Loki a Lieweaver with ice in his veins and a slick lode of clever water for a heart and tongue.

They were made for battle and every mode involved, as their King was. Frigga had not the hands and Balder had not anything at all. Frigga with her husband, and her loom and her clouds. Balder with his mead, shining hall, and his wife and her frivolity. Loki suspected she might faint should her lord husband be felled in battle, or any such event.

Loki met Odin's eye as steadily as he had all those years ago, when they'd taken the oath no longer spoken of. Brothers, they were. Just as he and Thor were. A not-son to a not-father, but to a brother who was of different parentage.

So many, many threads, fine and weaving and interlacing at impossible angles and heights. Some were torn or fading, a great many lost from memory. Making them all for the fools they were, showing those of higher meaning just how wrong the Nine were, will continue to be.

So he kept staring, and staring, waiting for Odin to acknowledge the irredeemable _right_ in his words.

"What say you, Thor, to this life on Midgard and amongst mortals? Fighting their wars and winning their allegiance once more?" _Useless though they have grown to be_ , was what went unsaid, despite the lucidity of it in Odin's one eye. There had been favor there once, like how an owner harbors affection for a pet, but Loki saw none left, not now.

"Aye, Father. I would have them with us, gaining honor as men alongside the very gods they so loyally worship."

A pause wherein Odin regarded those who stood in his hall, eye raking across each face, each son he'd bore, each Valkyrie that lurked knowingly, eagerly in the corners. Then finally, he only stared out, gripping the shaft of his spear tight.

One heavy strike against the golden dais from Gungnir, tall, thin, and piercing the high ceiling with its many facets of light, and it was done.

"Bring me the heads and hearts of those who would challenge our existence, these defilers, and perhaps then I shall reevaluate your places amongst our ranks. Bend open their chests and tear back their white ribs and show the mortals that man came from the earth I created with my brothers. Scry in the blood that washes over their bones and seeps down through to their dirt and show them that we are who they strive for. Teach them to honor life for life, and that should they desire a higher purpose, have them desire a place fighting for the rebirth of the world."

Another clang of metal against metal, and Odin met Loki's gaze.

"Remind them all death does is recycle the living."

\--

They had been excused from the studying eyes of the court, and of Odin. They had not been in Thor's rooms for nigh on a year due to the war, but that did not seem to erase the familiarity of them. Thor barely acknowledged that, glaring at the floor as he was. Loki stood, centered, balanced, ever watching with those shards for eyes. To move would be to break the tension of the court just moments earlier and to break that would be to unleash the rage of Thor, and he had no wish for that. Not yet.

"That was a terribly foolish thing to—"

"To what, Thor? It was pledge our alliance to the whelps of Midgard—escaping _total_ banishment—or have our lungs laid bare for all the court to see! They would revel in our spilt blood. The Duergar would have laughed and danced at us—"

The heavy thud of Mjolnir vibrated along the golden floor as Loki saw it drop.

"The dwarves were not there!" And then, less angry and a touch impatient, "They will not come."

He stood, watching Thor's countenance. A man troubled, a man hateful, spiteful, and above all the many things that made up the man before him, Loki saw apprehension. It shone as if it was a bright orb of magicked light about his head.

Quietly, "You see as much sense in my words as I do. Do not taint my sacrifice with your ill-conceived beliefs about my loyalty—"

"Speak not any longer, brother," Thor started direly. "Or I shall see your very heart on this floor before me in moments."

He halted, knowing that when Thor threatened, he meant it truly. He would not hesitate either, not after Jotunheim. They were past all forms of falsified brotherhood, of pretended camaraderie. How very long it had taken.

"Amusing you should see fit to evade the very conversation you wished to have only weeks ago. Were it not in my curious nature, I would not be speaking of it at all."

"'Were it not in your curious nature,'" Thor mocked, leaving Mjolnir where it lay to bear down upon Loki, all fury and hot breath and vicious, brutal eyes. "You are a betrayer and a liar. I see no reason to satisfy such base desires as yours. _Catering_ to your petty need for many words."

"Petty?" he laughed. "Oh, I pity you for believing speech is something so crass as pettiness."

A spiteful smile, one that did not reach Thor's eyes. "Ah, but that is your forte, is it not? You speak unbearably chaotic words so that all around you bow to your whims, small and willful as they are."

"Oh, but chaos is in my nature, is it not?" Thor turned away as Loki said, all composure and ease, "You agreed with me, readily. Easily. The words sat hot on your tongue just as they did mine. _Anything to escape punishment_ , or am I wrong?"

"Aye, but is that not the irony of it? You said them before I ever could. And now we are bound for the middle realm of the very Tree they have forgotten. The mortals deserve no such devotion."

"Think you I erred."

"I know you did, Loki. And we will pay for it, for years to come."

The runes swam invisibly between his fingers before Thor even finished speaking. Loki knew what had to be done to maintain some level of balance when they were to be thrown to the hounds of Midgard. He had an inkling of what Odin would subject them to, and he had to be prepared.

And so when he left the all too familiar smell and sight of Thor's quarters, it was all he could do not to turn back right there, and share his reasoning. To let his mind be known.

But he was Loki. And only Loki knew Loki.

\--

"Do you weep, Heimdall?"

"Do I weep for what, my lord?"

Beneath them the Asbru shone brightly, pulsing colors of light that faded and reemerged to be stronger than before, to die again. Again and again. Loki sat cross-legged on the colorful bridge, staring into his hands. Heimdall stood as aloof as ever, hands upon the hilt of his great sword.

"For time? For life? Surely you must, with all you've seen?" He picked at his fingernails.

"Do I weep for the universe you mean? One does not weep for what one understands. I was born of the Nine, nine mothers, nine daughters, thus I was born knowing. You learn quickly with a gift such as mine that compassion, sorrow, anger, happiness has no rightful place. You must observe the Realms, the indescribable scrutinies others do not take the time to look for, as a whole. Judge not the Realms. Judge not what one must protect above all else, and what they must do in order to achieve that protection."

Loki listened, heard all that was being said. He reveled in the few peaceful moments he had ever exchanged with the Gatekeeper, and yet he felt disgust in doing so. They were not meant for peaceful exchange, for camaraderie. Loki knew this. Heimdall knew this.

He pulled at the link of his bracer, loosening and tightening it again. A long pause wherein the seas clashed beneath them. "You can still weep for understanding. Depends on what is finally understood."

"And some weep for sacrifice, I know not the difference in this. Weeping in itself is a wasted thing. To know is a pleasure, a necessity."

He raised his eyebrows, amused Heimdall had found a loophole so large. "You think to shed tears of sorrow is a wasted thing?"

"Not all are able to achieve that end, not all are born of the Nine."

"The Fates were."

"Aye, as they were born of bestial energies as well. Their knowledge far surpasses mine. Think you the Fates weep then?"

Loki let loose one broken chuckle, and stood. He met Heimdall’s steady gaze. "No, I suppose they don't."

As he turned, Heimdall said, "Bring with you furs aplenty, for the winters of Midgard grow longer and colder than those that preceded it."

Loki tossed his arms out to the side, swaying as he walked away, towards the golden palace that so violently disturbed the twilight sky.

"I have camped in Jotunheim, I know cold, Gatekeeper." He angled his head to the side, so that his voice might carry easier across the wind, though he knew the ears of the god reached far beyond a few dozen yards. "Chaos only thrives so long in summer."

\--

"What happened in the cold and the dark of the land of the Jotnar? Thor?" Sif stepped lightly, like the floor would break apart and falter under the barest push of her weight.

Thor sat at the edge of his bed, disgruntled in all but the vague way he touched two fingers to the leathered hilt of Mjolnir. It sat there on the oaken slab of a table beside his bed, and was a mighty, virtuous thing in the midst of wrought emotion, destruction that was sure to come. He could only hope to build up patience in the wake of it, if nothing else.

"Many things."

She bit her lip and stepped closer, standing a few scant feet away, hands at her sides as if the ambiguous expectation of the stance would sluice words from his mind.

"Like?"

Thor shut his eyes and let his fingers fall away, hands coming to gather in the space between his knees. "There are many dark things in all the worlds Sif, and had you been there you would know."

"You forget thunder-caller, I was there for many months before you and he went off to be heroes." She came forward, advancing delicately until two small hands were on either side of his head, fingers pressed softly to his temples. He let out a breath and she went on. "I would know what heroism demanded such harsh decisions."

"You _know_ , shieldmaiden—"

"I know the need for Regicide; I know not _why_ the reason of the need is being spread. There were many things that went unknown between us those last few weeks. I would know how killing a king so ruined has troubled you so vastly."

"You would know many things, dearest Sif," he said.

"Aye, I would."

Thor touched a hand to the back of hers, feeling how his hair was splayed through the fingers of her other. "I needed Loki. I needed him those last weeks to alter the tide. A wave had grown, had come to crush all in its path, and Loki…Loki was the only thing to stop it.

"He called down those dreadful things to slay that cruel ruler of an even crueler people. Many do not realize when in the company of those you've prided yourself on killing, you see not the glory you have earned; you see only the error your hands have calculated."

"The Jotnar are vicious things, besides, Thor. 'Twas right what you did…I simply don’t know why they say you have brought down an empire."

"You are a smart woman, you know."

"I fancy myself many a thing, but in this instance I must concede to the side of ignorance."

"But surely not entirely?"

"No…perhaps not. But I would hear it from you before I listen to any others."

"In this you _are_ smart."

She hummed in agreeance, stroking a thumb across his brow.

"He killed a giant of thunder where I could not. He burned him. And then Loki turned around and made the daughter of that unkind eagle _laugh_ , and we were left free to leave. Just like that. The whisper of a few serpentine words and my brother was able to slay a king, entertain his daughter, and flee a Realm of ice and sorrow in no less than a few strips of time. Hours we spent in that baren palace, and yet I was useless. I…I would be dead if not for him. But how can I—"

A frown, and Sif was kneeling.

"He laughed as he did it. He was delighted in the way the eagle burned. Thiazi was a cruel, twisted, forgotten thing, lore in and of himself, and yet…yet I cannot help but feel were I on the receiving end of Loki's doings that day…

"All souls go to Hel, do they not? I fear his will not."

"Loki is many things, but forgotten is not one. His soul is perhaps the most coveted of Hela's," Sif said in the hope of lightening Thor's thoughts. It did not work.

"Loki is many things indeed…"

"There is more you are not saying." She readjusted her hands to cup his jaw, made him look at her. "I know there is more."

_But you are a broken, quilted soul. Ripped apart and torn to countless pieces only to be resewn and reused…again, and again and again._

_The squelch of blade through brain and Loki was laughing._

_Flame danced across the curve of two palms and then the smell of burning, peeling flesh invaded his nostrils. Screaming._

_For you are a broken thing…_

"Come," she said instead, rising. "Stay with me, for we have but one night before you must prepare…before you must leave Asgard."

Thor allowed himself to be led away, allowed his body to succumb to the pleasure Sif gifted him with, though his mind could only circulate on the gaunt face of a giant of frost, cold and towering.

Thin as a needle and always waiting.

\--

The hall was empty, a rare thing. Loki eased inside like he'd done countless times before, eyed the way the throne took up nearly all the room. He appreciated the fact that in a room devoid of life, only a thing as gaudy as a giant's creation could still call the attention of all. Even the dust seemed to lie light upon the floor and as he walked over, called to by some distant thing greater and more ancient than life itself.

The object itself stood nearest the large outcropping of rock and gold, dressed in grey robes and hunched like the old man he was. How everything had changed.

"We were young once."

"That you were," came Loki's immediate reply.

Odin made a grunt, but did not turn to view the man he'd once called brother, son.

"Jotunheim is coming. They will march when you are upon Midgard, and you revel in that fact."

"Of course I do, who would I be if I did not?"

"Unborn."

"Call a man unborn and have the curse of a thousand shameful thoughts cast down upon the caller."

"Ever the clever one," Odin said, shifting a bit.

Loki scoffed. "Ever the elderly one. I see Idunn's fruit has yet to sharpen the mind of Age and Wisdom. I see the blade of your feeble Nine try to carve new insults and all I observe are the same old shifting waters of Mim."

"Yours words clash like the blunt things they are. You use a child's toy in the face of a god. You know this." But Loki could tell by the tone of his voice he was smirking.

"If words are but a child's plaything, then I suppose you are the greatest child of them all. Not to mention self destructive."

"Speak for yourself, Lieweaver."

Loki smiled widely, his mood lifting already. "Oh, I will miss this."

The moon hung heavy, seemingly iridescent in the soft orange light of the constant twilight.

"She seemed stolen so long ago."

Loki eyed his back, wondering. "Her fruit grows rancid I presume, if you think bringing this up now will wilt my determination."

"Amusing the son of Laufey would falter in killing his own father, one he despises."

"I have many I despise, multiple fathers included."

Odin finally turned, peering into him like he was a book with pages to be torn away. "Thor knows your violence. He knows your desire. You will vie for Jotunheim again, and when you do, Asgard will not be behind you."

"Asgard was never behind me."

"They will be behind Thor. He won't be with you."

He ignored the way that set his heart pounding. There was something of an old spark of fire in the man, and Loki enjoyed seeing it, remembering their adventures. Though it brought a thick, lead staple across the seam of his heart and he felt not the strength for breath left in his lungs. Odin, again, was bringing up forgotten things. Things he would never speak again, to _anyone_ , so why say them now?

Because he wants to make a point.

_And you are a broken thing._

Finally, he managed, "I also have many a brother who are not supportive of me. I seem to have an issue with maintaining strong familial bonds."

At that, Odin chuckled, but the intensity in his gaze did not waver. "No one will know I sent you there. No one will know I invoked a war, to bring about another."

Loki felt suddenly out of place, dazed. Had Odin just freely confessed to inciting what they both knew he had? Was he even addressing him? There was something darker to his words, something in the underbelly, a threat. He would die if he spoke truth of what had been done.

"Thousands were lost in a short turning of seasons,” Loki breathed.

"And Valhalla thrives." Loki saw Odin’s jaw flex with the words and felt his stomach roll.

Loki hummed thinly, knowing then. "Tell me, oldest comrade, would I, a Jotun bastard who has a penchant for the uncanny, and your golden son, your savior, been laid bare for the court?"

"Your bones would have littered my hall to the gates of Asgard, and it would have thundered and poured as Thor watched, collecting them."

_Open to the world._

"We were young once," Loki said softly. He looked, blinking out at the sight of Asgard laid open before the palace, asleep and gone from the world for one more night. Tomorrow he and Thor would be away to Midgard, for however long.

"I was wrong. I have always been old."

Loki bowed his head, turned for the entrance.

On his way out, he said, "Let's pray to the mortals that red clouds crest soon."

He could not help but to catch the way Odin said, "You will know first of all."


	2. Gods Amongst Men

"You've packed quite a lot for the journey, brother."

"And you have not. Why?"

Loki only pointed one finger to the sky, grinning maddeningly cheerily. Like he was the master of some great joke. Thor curled his lip and kept walking on his way.

The Bifrost stretched proudly before all Asgard, and Thor would be rid of the beauty of his city before the hour, to be rid of the shaming sight of the crowned prince forced to parade his banishment. Would if he could. It always took an ungodly amount of time to walk the length of it. They'd not been given the privilege of horses. War inciters had no need of such luxury, the civilians whispered.

"I'm astounded Tyr did not manage an appearance. I'm sure he would have loved to wave at our departure, merry bright upon his usually stern brow," Loki said from beside him. He wasn't looking at Thor when he turned to study his brother's face, but all he could see was a man made of victory.

A blond brow arched speculatively, ignoring Loki's snarky remark. "You've an air of unsuspecting youth about you. Oddly cheered. Like you're happy all of a sudden about our fate."

Loki rolled his eyes and came to walk closer to Thor. He spoke quietly. "Best to greet the mortals with a smile than be shot with an arrow or impaled by the length of a sword on sight, is it not, brother?"

When Thor did not respond, instead choosing to remain broodingly silent, Loki scoffed and moved to walk further away. He hastened his step just quick enough so that Thor could no longer see his visage without having to catch up with him. But he stayed where he was. Let his brother walk alone, he had no need of his false moods.

Heimdall stood a ways off, as impeccable and unmoving as Yggdrasil itself. The great muscles along his arms, his branches, the sword he held at his side, his roots. When they drew near enough so that Thor could see the rich color of his eyes, he thought they shone more on this day with a knowledge far greater than his own. He would miss Heimdall, he realized. He would miss his calm, collected demeanor, and his skill with giving the most needed of advice. Heimdall was his friend.

The only comfort in this forced departure was the fact Thor knew he could speak to the empty air upon Midgard and Heimdall would hear him.

Odin and Frigga had not come to bid them farewell today. The civilians had been held back at the gates; Sif, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg with them. Custom bid no gleeful parting to those deemed traitors or defilers of the Realm, to those who would endanger it. Thor had barely acknowledged any of them save Sif, his dearest Sif. Her hand had found his arm in the swarming crowd, soft upon his skin where the crowd's insults were not. He had not had time to kiss her once more, and it sat heavy in his gut when he pondered how long it would be before he would see her again.

Loki acted as if nothing had been more fun.

 _Berate me one night, smile the next morn as an entire realm throws insults and threats at your back; I know not how you think, you idiot brother of mine,_ he thought. Thor had spent the night before with Sif, but he had no idea where Loki had been. Had no insight into how he spent his last night upon their home Realm. No idea at all. His brother's actions were a mystery to him most of the time, but this…this weighed on him. A sad thing truly, that he did not know.

But his resentment buried that weight.

The fool practically sauntered past Heimdall, exchanging all of a nod, rare as that was of him. Thor knew he did not like Heimdall, and he suspected Heimdall had not taken a liking to Loki either. He shook his head, and kept on.

"Be safe, my prince," Heimdall said softly as Thor approached. He would be the last Asgardian Thor or Loki would see for an indefinite time. He gripped the Allseer with a strong hand, embraced him halfway in a moment of childlike vulnerability.

"I will return soon, friend. Watch over us."

Heimdall inclined his great helmed head and Thor moved on to join Loki in the observatory, the galaxy bare before them in hastening slits as the dome began to move. The gold rimmed walls, inlaid with such intricate runework seemed impossibly thin in that moment.

"I trust Sif made a warm bed your last night in this Realm?"

"Much warmer than your hand made yours."

Loki's rich, upbeat laughter echoed around the spacious room before a beam of soft, powerfully magnetic light pulled at their very souls.

OOO

He tried with all the might in his bright will, but he could summon no movement of his fingers, no power of his voice to sing along with that elegant lute. It sat in his lap, scarred delicately from use, polished bright with scented wood oil to allow the notes to ring clearly. The birds alighted before him, picking at the hem of his pants eagerly. He wanted to please them, but no breath came from his lungs, his fingers felt stiff. No manner of happiness seemed to flit through him, no matter how much he thought he felt it. He was happy. It was his time now.

They were gone.

So why was he so troubled?

"I am so sorry small ones, but I must leave you," Balder said sorrowfully, with a small, sad smile as he reached down to toss a few seeds for them. The birds hopped excitedly, hungry, pecking at the ground as they always did when he fed them. "No music I can summon from mine lungs today. Maybe tomorrow."

He went to his chambers, lay down and simply closed his eyes for a while. The lute sat on his chest and he plucked at the strings experimentally. Off-key and nothing of talent, but it managed to act as a sort of therapy for him. Balder was never one to be away from music long; it was as close to him as was Thor's mighty hammer. It simply was a part of him, not meant to be away.

It felt wrong to be so separated from his melody. It felt so, _so_ wrong. Yet he could not pinpoint the reason why it was so.

Thor and Loki were gone from the Realm; he had not been there to see them off just as the rest of their family had not. It was custom. It was expected. He had not _wanted_ to go, to see his two pompous brothers off on a trip of exile. Exile cunningly twisted by that vile thing Loki. His father should have let him die.

He hushed his mind, scowling into space as he instantly felt a guilt sweep over him for such dark thoughts. He was not so wicked as to wish death upon a brother, despite the lack of shared blood between their veins. He was not so heartless to not feel some sort of brotherhood with the men he'd shared centuries with.

No. No he was not.

His nail caught a string and it snapped, twanging bitterly into the silence.

OOO

The door stood before him as a giant, gargantuan thing. His hand hovered, waiting, begging his heart to not give in and do this. He had not wanted to end up here, in front of his mother's door, seeking her council. He was much too old for that. He had not even realized where he was going until he had ended up there.

Balder stood before Frigga's door and contemplated knocking upon it like it was a predetermined plague bagged in a sack of much needed flour.

It had been nearly two days since the departure of Thor and Loki, and still he could find no song within him. It was driving him mad. Consulting his mother was his last resort.

But before he could manage to bring his knuckles to the wood, he heard someone moving about within. Then a moment later, the door moved inward and he was looking into the peaceful, questioning gaze of his mother.

She opened the door more widely when she saw who it was. She was already reaching a hand out for him as she stepped out. She touched his arm and inclined her head with a small smile.

"Dearest son, what brings you here?"

Why had he come, truly? That niggling in his gut was there, ever persistent in its quest to…unhinge him? He knew nothing of his mind's torturing and his body's suffering.

"I am weary to speak of it here. Many a thing trouble me and I find it robs me of even the simplest of joys. I cannot sing, I cannot strum…I fear I have lost my talent. I have forgotten how, Mother."

She closed the door behind her so gently it barely made a sound. Her hand found its way through the bend of his arm and he allowed her to clasp his hand between both of hers, leading him down the hallway.

Balder wondered idly where she intended to lead him to discuss his troubled mind, but he forwent the worry of it. He'd rather be lost in the storms of his heart than focus solely on the golden floor. Still, he wanted it to be so simple. Rarely was anything, and it saddened him.

Many an eye caught his on their journey through the palace. The armored Einherjar knew better than to stare for so long, but the lords and ladies had a scant bit more of will in them. They were more daring, and their eyes, the line of their curious mouths, even their posture showed that plainly.

Looking away, he knew he could afford them no thought, spare no second longer than was necessary to acknowledge their presence. Then they were disregarded completely, forgotten, until next he met them.

They were nearly at the edge of the gardens before she spoke again. Her fingers squeezed his and he stopped, drawing short of a half step, the leather of his shoe creasing and pinching the skin of his foot. The slight pain drew his thoughts to stillness, and he silently questioned Frigga if this was where they were to speak. She nodded, allowing him to lead her to a marble bench, cracked slightly from a wayward swing of Mjolnir in Thor's youth, slightly shaded from the sun. She placed both palms in her lap and clasped her hands together, smiling that ever gentle smile at him, grace incarnate.

He traced the cracked stone for a while until her voice reached him, firm, slightly demanding. He wondered at her tone, but of course did not question his mother, his queen.

"Have ill dreams met you in the night?" she asked, softly.

"Not quite the _night_. Nanna has seen to my night terrors as of late, you have no need to worry of that. However, my Queen…I find my mood…discomfited ever since the departure of my brothers."

He worried his hands from one to the other as Frigga watched him. Her eyes narrowed only barely before she was smiling a little too widely. But the expression, so dark and _different_ than what his mother _was_ would be stuck inside him for the remainder of his days, he worried.

"I am glad you have Nanna," she said, smiling gentler this time, honestly. "Your father places great stock in dreams, as do I. Wise men hold dreams as the gateways to our fates, should we choose to ponder their meanings."

"I do, Mother. I ponder them always. I know not…I do not know why now is different. I have these…foul thoughts come to mind whenever I imagine the faces of my brothers. Things that find smaller a barrier every day. I wish…" He paused, not finishing his thought.

"…Unfortunately, many a creature refuse to see the truth before them, or they simply misunderstand the light of it. What thoughts, my son? What do you wish? No matter how foul, the thought has likely been repeated several times worse by a dozen other men." She laughed very softly, but it did nothing to penetrate his suddenly befouled mood.

Balder was remembering the many things he'd thought so guiltily the last few days. He had never felt such shame…

"I am angry at them. I want them to stay removed from Asgard. The Realm would be better for it." At the hesitant set of her mouth, Balder hastily tried to convey what he meant. "You have seen them. Think of the clarity Asgard would know should Loki's mischief be erased. Ponder over the absence of Thor's eagerness and brutality. Think of how Asgard would prosper!"

Balder was suddenly desperate for her to understand, to feel even a bit of empathy so that he would receive some sort of council. To know that his thoughts were not such wicked decrepit things.

It took a long while for her to think of something to say. "Balder, you know I am truly only mother to you, for you are the only babe to have grown from mine own womb. Thor belongs to Midgard, and Loki…Loki was born apart from this Realm. However, their homes are here. I would be no just Queen if I simply disregarded two members of my family that I have raised from childhood."

"But you were not happy with them. I saw that you had been possessed by a rage so grand in the hall that day—had Odin not been there you would have engaged them yourself! You cannot tell me you harbor no such ill will towards them and what they have brought upon us all."

"No. I cannot," she said surprisingly fast. Balder felt small then. "I have been forced to lose two of my children; I shan't lose another in you, not to the pull of violent doings. I know how tempting they can be…I know the feeling well. But you are Balder, you are above such tendencies. Thor and Loki are different. Their caliber of soul lies in the merit of war and trickery…I had thought them above such things…"

"How can I be above what I cannot even recognize? They swarm within me, these thoughts, as if a plague. I have need to be rid of them else I might go mad." He shook his head hopelessly.

Her hand found his back and began to draw comforting circles. It did not serve to quell the turning in his gut.

"What says Nanna of all this? It has been a short while since your brother's left."

"She thinks it a phase of mind. That I will be troubled no more in the wake of her touch…I mean no perversity here. It is simply no help. Nanna has rarely failed in such things, and I would be lying were I to say I feel no guilt in admitting it this once."

A group of flaxen ladies passed and Frigga smiled warmly, nodding in acknowledgment, but not in invitation. All knew better than to interrupt when the royal family of Asgard, not without leave to do so. Balder was thankful for it, he felt fit to ring his own neck, if only to stop the darkness that so settled within him.

"I have a means to achieve some peace of mind, my son. Though the road to it will be a challenge you have not yet faced…"

Balder turned to his mother in surprise, wondering why she would seem so sad to impart this information. What miracle working could she conceive?

"Aye, anything. I would know it, be it anything at all."

A lengthy pause wherein Frigga closed her eyes and seemed to meditate, her silence was so absolute, her breathing so even. Her brow quivered only once, a shade of a moment where Balder could not recall after. He waited, silent.

Expecting the worse, he could bring his mind only to images of battle and death, and Valhalla…the loss of it. But his heart joined the crowded churning in his stomach as she next spoke words he worried he'd ever hear.

"Know you the way to the roots of Yggdrasil?"

OOO

"How long do you think it will be before we reach them?"

"Days, weeks, years? It all really sort of blends together when in the company of one who talks so much." Loki eyed him from where he walked beside him, stepping over roots and stones embedded in the dirt as effortlessly as if he put them there himself.

"Do not be cruel, Loki."

"Haven't heard that one before," he said, jutting out his chin.

"I merely wish an answer to my question, you insufferable—"

"Judging by the runic carving left in the wake of the Bifrost, I would say two or three weeks from where we were deposited. However, considering the fact we have been allowed the luxury of travelling there ourselves, it would do both of us well to take our time."

Thor gathered up his pack and readjusted the swing of it on his back. The constant sway and press of it was beginning to bring him aches.

"What would do us well, Loki, is to not spite our father for the sake of your war you insist on having with him. The humans die and their bodies fill the earth they walk quicker than they can shout commands at their men."

"What would you have me do?"

"I would have us reach them before they all perish!"

"Like you care so much for them," Loki scoffed, narrowing his eyes in dry humor. "Like you care anything at all."

"Do not mock me with your beliefs. I remain loyal to them." His mouth was dry.

"Oh, as much as _I_ , perhaps? Or has it flown your mind the one who proposed the idea?" At Thor's silence, he went on. "You care as much for them as I do, which is scant little."

"Silence your tongue before I rip it away from you."

"Please, do come up with new threats, the old ones are getting old." He shoved Thor aside with his arm, walking slightly ahead. "Tell me, Thor, when was the last time you set foot here? Oh, can't remember? Well I do, and it was when man was still learning to walk. Sometimes I think you forget how much I have actually lived through."

"I do not forget. I simply live for the present time we have spent in each other's company."

"Present being when Odin took to calling me son instead of brother? Kind, that. To let those in Asgard who are young enough to believe me of a youth I've long since forgone. The ones who remember, like Tyr…well." His mouth twisted. "I yearn for the day that old fool will age."

"Odin has done many a kindness for you, Loki. The people of Asgard know you are of Odin's family." Loki smirked, obviously disagreeing with him. "And do not mock me on my stance upon Midgard and its people."

"Really, Thor. You would no sooner wade through their shit than I. It does not become you, brother, to lie so. It is not a talent you possess."

He was quiet a long while as they trekked through the dirt pathway, edged by thick shrubbery and bursting flowers of soft, youthful yellows and greens. Trees shot into the sky with jutting spires of rough branches and pointed leaves, the hollows in the trunks housing small, nocturnal animals, waiting for the night.

Far above them a raven flew, lonely amid the bright and cloudless sky.

Finally, "The greatest would know, would they not? Loki."

Loki smiled at his words, taking them as a compliment well deserved and not something to be condemned for. Thor frowned, fighting it.

But inevitably lost as it was the first time he had seen Loki smile so honestly in such a long, long time.

OOO

They rigged a spit of a metal spike through two rough wedges of wetted wood. Thor had found stones from a river Loki marked by the growth upon the tree trunks and gathered enough to encircle a small fire, large enough to cook fish caught from the same river.

He should have known his brother would pack seemingly more than he, using his stores of magic. A couple paws at those runes of his and then a billowing length of fabric came tumbling out of the empty space before him. He laid it down upon the ground and claimed it as his sleeping place. Furs soon followed, iron castings for cooking, a set of wooden utensils…and had Thor not brought his own, he would have been jealous of the care Loki had taking to packing.

"Best to change into clothing more humble, brother, lest they think you a high lord of some unknown land," Loki eventually said, referring to the intricate armor Thor wore. The length of fabric draped across his back and half his chest, secured by the vast bear pelt he woremore than covered it…though Thor supposed he was right. He began to undo the straps of it, pulling out other, simpler clothes.

Loki himself had already vanished his own familiar armor and royal black furs for a tunic and breeks of soft brown leather. The seams were woven in gold and Thor knew his brother, for all his words, would never relinquish even a smidge of his vanity. No matter how concealed he tried to keep it.

Loki moved his fingers once more and brought forth a small wooden goblet to drink from. He summoned another and tossed it to Thor, not sparing him a look. He simply went about his business.

The more he revealed from those working hands of his, the more Thor suspected Loki had gone so far as to make a list of what he needed.

If he went farther than that…no. Loki could not have planned this, despite always planning everything like he did. Odin was no such fool to be taken in by Loki. There was a reason Odin held the name of wisest, among so many others. Odin was perhaps the only one to be immune to the guiles of his brother.

Thor watched Loki pick at the thin bones of his trout, not breaking a single one, lips and teeth greedy for the meat it held.

He worried for the mortals upon this tiny Realm. When gods walked amongst men, souls filled the heavens like the prick of knife against wood, carving always.

Distant, like the crashing waves against a foreign shore, thunder threaded through the sky in swaying, jolting booms of light.

The taste of his meal fled him.


	3. Those Who Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither the Norse, Marvel, nor the gods.
> 
> NaNoWriMo started so I will try to update as often as possible!
> 
> Love to you all for reading and sharing your thoughts, as always!

" _Cruel you are to murder your sons and give me their flesh to eat. Little time is lost between your wicked deeds."_  


_The Saga of the Volsungs_

OOO

He dreamt he woke to step on a pit of needles. They covered the ground he walked along and yet he felt no pain on the soles of his bare feet. There was blood and nothing else. He felt such sadness overcome him then and he collapsed, falling to his knees, still feeling nothing. The needles stabbed into his palms and he curled his nails into them. Blood. Tears. Black hair falling into his face.

Everywhere blood.

Finally, like the cold snap of long awaited winter, the pain reached him and he sucked in gasping breaths of air. It felt like choking.

And then he woke up.

 

OOO

Sunlight bartered blinding entry over the crest of a wide peak, spilling through the leaves of the tall trees to cast splintered shadows over their still forms. Thor awoke, the breath of chill morning air raising the hair along his arms and the sound of softly running water of the nearby stream telling him it was barely after dawn. He looked to the sky and found the sun only just rising above the farthest mountain, spreading apart the sharp contrasted edges of clouds that bled from orange to red against the light. They moved as monoliths, grasping at the boundaries of the sky and pulling their massive bodies aloft on the wind.

Loki lay on his side, prone to stillness that would have been abnormal for anyone else who was asleep. He'd often seen Loki forgo it, but he rarely understood the reason why. Nights that stretched on, sleepless and dark and lonely. Nights he could not bring his mind to rest enough to lay down and give way to dreams, for the dreams were worse than the war. The war…the way it took of everything.

_Orange flame, licking bright and vicious and curling to blue, burning flesh and fume…_

No matter how much the memory bid him speak his curiosity _now_ , Thor knew it was a discussion for another time. A time when they were not so yoked with duty.

"Brother," he yawned, "have you slept?" But he already suspected the answer.

"Perhaps." Loki faced the sunlight and the way he raised himself to rest most of his weight on one elbow cast a long shadow across where Thor lay.

There were many things he could have done then. He could have given some chaste rebuke, or simply stood up and left to go bathe in the stream, pack up their things, anything. But Thor chose to prod that strange silence of Loki's, infused with a curiosity he couldn't define clearly enough after just having woken.

"What are you thinking?" he ventured.

Sunlight crept along, pushing back the cruelty of shadows and the woes of memory from the protective light of day.

And Loki said so softly, "I was thinking that if were I to die buried in clouds, that it would be a good death, a peaceful death."

He paused, rolling onto his back enough to peer over at Thor.

"But who wants peace anyway?"

 

OOO

Though Loki's words troubled Thor most of the morning, he found he could not think on them forever. Loki had a way of messing with one's mind, and he'd been felled by his twisted words on more than one instance.

There were other things to do besides. This day would see them both upon the camps of those they were to help.

Though Loki spoke otherwise.

"We should watch, and wait."

"And waste yet more time?"

Thor stopped packing their things, dropping the bag he held to the ground. Unbelievable, that his brother should not wish this over quickly. That he saw no need to hurry during a war.

"Enough so that we do not frighten them into civil war. Whatever little display of power you plan on _honoring_ them with, for surely you do think it an honor bestowed upon mortals to witness their own gods among them, it is best to leave it behind you. For they will scare. And we will be rebuked in their fright." Laughter bubbled darkly in the back of his throat but he sighed it away.

"Mortals do not scare so easily—"

"Ah, so we are to have _this_ conversation again." Loki stared at him. "And what if they do? What then? Waste an even greater amount of time trying to earn our way back into their meaningless lives to do our meaningless task?"

"You are the one who proposed our _meaningless_ task, Loki."

Loki said nothing and finally straightened and pulled at the intricate fabric he wore across his shoulders, knuckling the buckles quickly closed. The fur splayed in the brisk wind, his ink black hair swiping across his face for a moment before he tossed his head back, looking away from Thor.

"We will stake their camps and observe how best to go about entering," he said. "Rather than run in and declare, _your gods have arrived_!" he mocked, holding his arms high. They dropped to his sides and he laughed again.

Thor gathered up the bag he'd dropped and returned to packing his things. Loki had only to roll those blasted stones in his hands before things that should have taken both of their efforts to move were packed easily by Loki's own doing. Cheat, he thought. But there was nothing he could about it.

"I wonder how they will react, once they know. It has been a long time since Asgard has reached out to Midgard. Perhaps they have forgotten the Realm, how it used to be. The days the Bifrost let all walk between the Realms."

Loki spoke as he stomped out the fire, trickling dirt overhead. "I doubt it. They fight for their chance at proper prayer. They kill in order to think of us." His words turned dark. "Their whispers are leaden with fear of this new man their enemy call _priest_ , and hope of a better outcome. They know they can only hold out for so long before—"

"Before?"

Green eyes watched the fire snuff out, a thin trail of white smoke cutting his visage in half.

"Even gods must die, Thor."

He stepped away from the once-lit pit of burnt wood and walked as if to head past Thor, but he stopped right beside him. Thor felt the need to look at his face, catch the look in his wild eyes, but he was forced into stillness, looking straight ahead.

"Odin barters the most dangerous of deals, brother. It is best you recognize that now rather than later."

He swallowed thickly, a ball of dread thickening in his throat. He closed his eyes.

"We are his family, Loki. He would not harm us."

A hand gripped his shoulder and Loki leaned close enough that Thor could feel cold breath upon his cheek.

"You are young, Thor, and know only the robe of your father. You have not known him in his armor. War is the grandest thing he owns, and he wears it well. You know not the cloak of brotherhood, bloody and thick between he and I. You have not lived a thousand years beside a man who would indulge one's mind with intellect so vast your mouth would water, and then take away a man's ability to _speak_ the next moment."

Thor finally turned and was caught by the look of wretchedness Loki's face held.

"You know only your father. Just as I know only Odin."

 

OOO

There was a taste sweeter than the heavens here, and he knew it to be true as dew-tipped leaves graced his lips with life-giving water. Balder tipped the great cascading leaves as he passed them to drain into the curve of his lips, and he wondered idly if it was a great wrong to so drink that which was born of the Ash.

The leaves grew greener here, and the bark more succulent—peeling in long, curving lines, and so enriched when chewed, nearly juicy—the flowers were brighter and larger, the animals healthier. Even as it rained, as it did often along this path, it seemed to only reveal his course instead of clouding it with humidity and fog.

The far reaching roots of Yggdrasil grew wide and thick, and it was miles and miles before he was honored sight of the first branch. Appearing as a shimmering haze through a distant fog yet edged with clear, bright light, it stretched out far above him at an impossible height. Turn one way and it was gone, next as blunt as the sun; like a piece of the sharpest glass.

He had many a long night ahead, but the path his mother had offered him would not dim in his mind. How could he unsee such marvels when granted by the great Mim? Never at all would he forget. Frigga had allowed him a vast respect and gift when he'd been allowed counsel with the old Jotun. A Jotun he had never thought he'd be able to _speak_ to!

Having been shown a sliver of what fate lay before him was only the cusp of the temptation of what he sought. Balder wanted to know his fate, what the Realm held for him and his brothers.

He would know of Loki and Thor's doings, and he would learn their ways.

The great throne Hlidskjalf was meant to seat many men of Odin's blood after all.

 

OOO

Loki passed a marker of wood wrapped in silk thread three times across the trunk of several trees, watching, intently, the sway of the wood. Thor had to try very hard to stay still and wait, for it seemed an asinine practice of mapping which way to go.

But as his brother's shadow crept past under the beating rays of the massive star overhead, he was pushed to speak his mind, lest they both grow burnt and ill minded from the pointless labor of it.

"Loki, what are you doing?"

Without stopping, he said "What pressing need have you of knowing?" Shadow, ever stretching across the leaves underfoot.

"Because," he said, gripping and readjusting the clasp of his cloak, "the press is as a weight unlifting. There is a simpler way to go about locating our destination. We have only to mark the moss spattered across the stones and trees. Simpler still, we need only to follow the river, for the needs of men will be laden there!"

Loki turned and eyed the way he threw his arm out towards the river behind them with a raised brow. His arm dropped, ceasing finally the incessant waving.

"Foolish," was all he said. And so, once more, his arm raised and his shadow took to stretching.

Nostrils flaring, Thor breathed out in frustration before walking over to his brother, taking his little stick, and snapping it in large hands. He spread his fingers and let it drop in front of Loki's narrowed eyes and downturned mouth, growing more hateful by the second.

Dangerously, "I grow tired of your games. Follow if you find you desire to keep to your promise to Odin and keep your head, if not, then goodbye, Loki."

Loki bent and gathered the thread, winding it up before tucking it away somewhere within his layered clothing. Thor often wondered how he could bear such weighted clothing in such heat. Even as he turned and began on his way down the river, following the growth of moss and lichen, he pulled at the fur about his shoulders, wishing he could fling it into the river beside him.

But he would need it for when the snows came, and so he ignored it as best he could.

Thor could not help but notice that no steps sounded in his wake.

It would be a lie if he said it did not sadden him, on a level buried underneath the memories that circled, still too fresh, within his mind. A war they'd fought not so long ago.

The reason they were here to begin with.

 

OOO

"They seek each other."

"And so they will find each other, as those who seek often do."

Frigga came and laid a hand out for her husband. Odin clasped it between his own and raised it to his weary mouth, set in a line not even she could soothe, with all her many caresses.

"Balder drinks from the leaves of the great tree, Thor seeks Loki's truths, and Loki seeks Thor's intelligence. They all will find themselves in more ruin than is bearable before they find repair."

Her other hand found the crown of his hair, and he tilted his head into the press of her delicate palm. Fragile, always so seemingly fragile, like the wisp of a fleeting cloud…and yet as malleable as the beat of heated iron laid bare to peg and hammer. The power of words that could corrode as well as thundering steel and gold, and soft as shallow running water…this was his wife. This was Frigga Allmother, and her hands spoke the truth of her will in every touch.

Even now, as he kissed her other hand, opened her palms to press lips to each, and gathered both between his own, Odin felt a thrumming peaceful power, impenetrable and everlasting.

"Banishment, though?" she breathed.

"'Twas preferred to other possibilities." He paused, thinking. "Best allow Loki to think he has conjured this respite from my will rather than he think I manipulated him. As ever."

"Ever being the result of too many years living under your roof, sweet husband." She withdrew her hands and lay out on her side, the expanse of her collar and neck falling open beneath the vapored silks she wore. Candlelight flickered along their shadowed walls, casting terrible, muted creatures to crawl along, jumping now and again in battle and promise. "Had you expected any other turnout from a brother turned child?"

"Another decision for a different time. Thor was still yet young, without even the grip of his hammer. The Vault had been young then, as he, and Loki's mirth souring by the rising of each sun."

Frigga only watched him and he sighed, a rare showing only the first family was privy to knowing. "What else was I to do?" he muttered.

He received in answer the careful, knowing press of hand along arm. He lay back, resting his eye, darkness welcomed to the sporadic light of the flame sprinkling his walls.

"You sent Balder to the Ash. You know of what he will find."

"You more than I." He could hear the smile in her voice, sad and shattered.

He chuckled, the sound catching roughly and coming out chalky. "Time it was, for him to meet the Three. Time has never been on our side. Such a wicked thing to play against."

"Truly, for the fates of our sons are so threadbare, it is a wonder…" but her voice spoke differently than her words. A mother's frailty showed in many other ways than the strength of her speech.

"Bare only in time, Frigga. Only in time. In that, we all are lacking."

Ticking along like the spat of water against paneled wood, time slipped slowly by. They lay there, sharing the dampness of what comes after intimate doings and the comfort of having known one another for so, so long. Thoughts shared across millennia not even the Three could snap.

Eventually, "Think you our sons will return to us?"

Without hesitating, he said "No. Before we see them again, things will be lost and forgotten. Broken. Broken past all recognition."

Frigga curled in on her side, watching the way he now stared straight up at the ceiling overhead. His single eye shone wetly in the dimmed light. Her own cheeks were streaked in cold, thin strands.

"You fear for our sons." It was not quite a question.

And Odin did not answer.

But what Frigga sensed, a thought passing through her mind that shimmered apart from her own, was _I fear for all._

_I fear for all._

 

OOO

Night passed slowly, creeping along like the shadowed sky above. Loki skulked along, silent save for the muted crunching of leaves underfoot. It had been hours since he'd last seen Thor tromp off into the wild, following the river to his precious mortals.

Thor was right of course, but he would not reach them just yet. No, Loki still had yet to see some things done. The people of Midgard could wait awhile longer.

He had only to manipulate the dark, bend the will of the trees, speak the words of the wise ones so that the forest would be his, if only for a short moment. Enough for Thor to lose his way, enough for him to find sleep before exhaustion, enough for Loki to accomplish what he sought. It had taken such scant little to lead Thor off on his own. Humorous that so small a thing as a useless bundle of twigs could agitate his brother so.

Now he was free of Thor's persisting presence, he would not interrupt.

Dreams were woven in many ways, fate a chosen few. The Three were not of Midgard, but somewhere much deeper, hotter, and humid; somewhere the eye can rarely see, the body barely reach. Had he not been there before, once, so very long ago, he would not risk what he sought. Not at all.

Loki reached within his layered robes, sweeping them back to reveal the straps across his chest housing various pouches and sheathes for knives. He withdrew from a pouch a flask, and held it out before him.

His arm trembled once and, biting his lip against it, poured.

Mist sprang forth from wherever the liquid splashed thick and heavy, dissipating as if it had never been liquid at all. Waves upon waves of the fog drew up around him, enveloping him, clouding his sight. He shivered.

And then a voice like vapory silk filled his ears, everywhere and nowhere at once.

_You are far from your own bed, World-Walker._

The presence of the voice shrouded him like the pressure of a great bulk of fur, skin clammy despite the cold of the night.

"It would have been longer still had I not found that inane way of dissuading Thor from my presence. He lurks when I am wont to be alone."

_You invoke differently,_ the voice shuddered, ignoring him, _Special it must be what you truly seek._

"I seek many things."

The pressure stuttered, like laughter he could not hear.

_War_.

"I have already fought one."

_You bring yet more of it here, to there. Steps lined in frost bring war to the shores of the mightiest of oceans._

Green eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue.

_Two Realms, two wars. You desire blood of all people. You would see your father dead and gone and your mother weeping over the shorn sky, clouds torn. You would see your fire spread to this world and the next._

Which father, he wanted to say. But here, he knew not to speak such irrelevant flippancies.

_And yet,_ crooned that vicious shade, _And yet, you bring your brother to the heart of it. Why, I do wonder_.

"Odin would not have liked to forfeit the head of both sons."

_A lie unfit for such cunning lips, Loki, Loki…_

Again that disturbing shifting of a laugh.

_Shall I speak to him for you, your murderous thief of a false father? Or shall I take your brother's heart you've yet to truly maim?_

His heart thundered in his chest, but he managed, "I summoned you for counsel, that is all. Speak clearly what is to be done, lest I leave you alone for the many forlorn years you have left."

The shuddering stopped, and the pressure increased, bearing down on him like a hulking glaze of pain and anger.

_Then know, son of my sons, that what lies ahead will be filled with greater woe than you have ever faced. Think you know the sorrow of a people you have laid waste to? Think you know the lament of children born to silent Winter? Think you wear the tongue and robe of a prince cast out? You are not yet an elder among our people; do not think yourself more than a moaning child, wanting for attention of a land that has no need for your meddling._

"I did Jotunheim a kindness!" he hissed.

_Thiazi is dead and many are saved, yes…true. But the father of his father's father was a ruler more cruel than he, and you think you have broken the cycle of kings? Kings who rule cruelly in a cruel land?_

"Aye, I have," he bit out.

The pressure enshrouded him.

_Oh, the great Laufeyson restoring the first land of his father! For his father! You have given your kin nothing but more sorrow, in the form of a needle, piercing through all it touches._

"Laufey knows what I did, and he knows too that if he should retaliate on the son he cast out he will have all of Asgard against him."

The pressure lessened somewhat, and he allowed himself a small sense of triumph.

But then, _You think you have done a justice._

He felt like a child then, being looked down upon in disappointment.

_Odin will come, and Odin will decimate. You will bring fire behind wilted words. The hearts of princes will be cleaved in two, and you, you will be left to rot amongst a bridge of your brethren. Alone._

"No," Loki answered, taking a step back. Images forced their way into his mind. Images of fire and blood and the piled bodies of those he'd known so long, strewn lifeless across the gleaming Asbru.

An image of dark, white, wastelands blanketed in snow, the broken spires of a crystal tower shattering in the moonlight of a foreign star. Black smoke curled in the sky. Jotunheim, in flame—

"No," he whispered for he knew what came next.

And then, finally, the face of his brother, eyes absent of light, skin like ice.

He came to with a desperate gasp for air, hands curling into leaves and saliva dripping slowly from his gaping mouth. He'd fallen to his hands and knees during the vision. Had he been screaming?

He hung his head as the voice returned.

_You ask what will follow in your wake, Loki. I tell you that what will follow will be only a reflection of your past._

Tears spotted the ground.

_You drove war to its breaking point, and you will do so again._

A sound escaped him but there was no word to what it was.

_I require, in return, nothing, for I know I will glean reward aplenty in the despair you shall face._

Loki could not close his eyes, fearing he would see again the horrid images pushed into his head. Impossible, because he saw them no matter where he looked.

_A broken thing, Loki. That is what you are. That is what you will be._

As the pressure withdrew and the mist receded, Loki thought he called out the name of the presence.

But all he received was a gentle rhythm of words.

_Go, Loki, lest Thor face greater shadows than those you have cast upon the world._

 

OOO

Orange to blue, to yellow, to blue again; twisting tendrils that burned upward, upward, licking at the sky.

Nal, that thin, dangerous giant stood, watching Thiazi burn.

Loki laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

And still, even in his dreams, all Thor could do was stand, and watch.

Awed and frightened into a stillness he feared he'd never break out of.

 

OOO

Thor was wrenched from sleep when a hand grabbed at his shoulder. He snapped his elbow back, still trapped in the dread of his nightmarish dream but the hand came back, gripping harder this time. He was shaken, someone called his name, once, twice.

Loki.

He was shocked into stillness immediately, and the relief of having his brother close enough to touch, to hold onto overwhelmed him. He reached back and clutched at Loki's hand, the residual emotion of his dream forcing liquid to his eyes. Shameful he was, for scuttling so low like this, shameful, for needing his brother so. His brother, who'd wronged him past any reconciliation, past any at all.

But Loki stayed there, kneeling beside him, knees dirtied and wet and gripping Thor's shoulder just as strong.

And for a short moment in time, Thor allowed himself the pleasure of the thought that Loki, for once, needed him as much as he needed Loki.

Sentiment, his brother would have called it.

If sentiment it was, then his tears were heavy with the notion.

"Come," Loki finally muttered, so quiet and soft. "I would not lose you in these woods again, brother."

 


	4. River Reeds and Woven Tents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither the Norse, Marvel, nor the gods.

 

" _You speak many unjust words—it is a great lie."_

_The Saga of the Volsungs_

OOO

"See, just there," Loki said, raising his head above the green fronds and pointing. "While we were apart I found their settlement. They move through the land as consistently as they bury their dead in it."

They had tread through fern and flower for the better part of four hours, judging by the sun. Thor was hotter than he had yet been and finally discarded the fur cloak. He'd stuffed it away, Loki smirking at him at the struggle of it. Just as Loki laughed when he'd tripped once and only barely caught himself on the trunk of a birch. He'd stood swiftly, tearing strips of bark away to pack for later. Like it fooled Loki any. Though they served to keep his appetite at bay as they traveled over hill and mound. He'd chewed on wayward strips nearly constantly since they'd set out, his jaw now paying for it in a sore ache that throbbed every time he spoke.

He had not asked Loki how he had found the encampment. He had not begged insight into the meddling of Loki when he'd been asleep. Thor had not even remembered what had made him tired in the first place. Only did he recall the hand of Loki on his arm, holding him steady as he'd openly shed tears. A weak moment born of a frightful memory turned dream. Thor wondered why Loki had not brought it to light since they'd set out, and decided he would not broach the topic lest Loki did first. They had other worries to attend.

At least they were here, and maybe further bloodshed could be prevented with their arrival.

The small jut of land they laid upon and spied out of was a hundred or so feet away, just elevated enough so that they were fully hidden in plant life. Thor felt his arms itch beneath the metal of his bracers, but ignored it. He looked to the men they had agreed to help salvage.

Mortal men milled about, clad in everything from their armor to their underclothes. Cooking pits were mounted afore each tent, erected in nearly straight rows with a large totem carved of dark wood in the center. The feathers of ravens were nailed in rows near the top, swaying tattered in the light breeze of the early morning.

Somewhere in the trees surrounding them a raven crooned and Thor nearly flinched. He looked over to Loki, on his stomach in the still dew-damp grass and plant life that stretched everywhere. His elbows were wet up to the leather cuffs of his wrists. He was smiling.

"They will be here a long while yet, Thor." And it was true, they looked to be settling in. They had been here perhaps a week or so. Green eyes reached his, bright and proud. "You have your time, best make use of it."

Thor began to rise then, but Loki made a sound and dragged him back down, nearly causing him to greet dirt with mouth. He shoved Loki off of him and said, "We are here, what foolish thing has you so vexed now?"

"They cannot know us."

Thor just stared, then began laughing. "Humorous, this. Always the same conversation with you, Loki, always—" But Loki was digging harsh fingers into the flesh of his arm and wrenching him close.

Dangerously, Loki said, "Have we both not learned we are better off together on this forsaken orb of dust and that I have proven our journey here safer than you have?"

"You have proven our journey here into _existence_ , I should think—" Loki's eyes narrowed and Thor knew those runes of his were only just within his robes. Should he utilize them, he did not know what would happen.

Loki held his eyes for a heavy beat and snorted, releasing Thor to tend to his wounded pride. Loki turned back to the makeshift village, plumes of smoke newly blooming into the sky for a morning meal. Thor saw men drinking and one group started up a raucous cheering of a song. Shields bore his hammer and he felt the weight of it against his hip more keenly. This was his realm. _His_ to protect.

Thor settled more fully into the damp foliage. "And who else will they believe us to be, then? How are we to truly aid them as gods when they know not that their gods are the ones right beside them?"

"Oh, but are gods, gods if a god stands beside another, Thor," Loki asked without turning away. He scanned the ground, the large encampment, the river that lay just beyond, hidden scarcely by just wilting birch.

Thor shook his head, done with Loki's unending riddles.

Loki placed a gentle hand atop Thor's. Thor raised a brow but said nothing, wondering what scheme earned that vile glint in his brother's eye.

"You are going to drown me."

" _What_?" Thor wrenched his hand away, rolling half onto his side to better see Loki. "Has the madness of the last few weeks truly etched away all of what your brain was?"

"We shall have a hunter's quarrel," Loki went on, ignoring Thor. The raven crooned once more. "You will challenge me in the river, there," and he pointed to a spot just outside their camp. "For I have just claimed a buck my own, when truly it was yours, you had been tracking it for nigh on two hours. You will yell every obscenity you can fathom in that thick skull of yours and you will hold me under that water, having neither the heart nor lack of ego to be willing to suffer any more challenge from I."

"And what if I drown you?" Thor asked, seriously.

Loki lifted his eyes to his, somewhere over his shoulder, then to the sky. "Please, you could not kill me. I am your brother." And he laughed.

Heaving tired breath, Thor sat back on his haunches. He craned his neck to see if he could spot that far away raven, ever crooning in the trees, but its sight was out of reach, he could not see it.

"You will be Torvig, and I, Lok."

"Ha! And such similar names will be overlooked, then, when they see I have Mjolnir at my side always?"

"You leave it here." At the disbelief that was surely plain on Thor's face, Loki added, "Of course you did not think you could walk in and be among them with _that_ toting around with you?"

"Aye, I did."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Do not be stupid, I know there is _some_ sense in that head of yours, you've lived this long to agree with me. I suggest you agree with the plan I have, lest we both fail our given task."

"A task forced upon the both of us, a task you forced—"

Then, deadly low, "Quiet yourself, before I silence you myself." He quirked his lips at Thor. "Not so amusing is it, being threatened?"

"I have been threatened before, that is not the point of this—"

"No, you have not." There was a note in his voice that made Thor's eye twitch. Something dark and knowing. "Now, when shall we show ourselves?" Loki asked, dark mood suddenly and irrevocably lifted. He sat back and leaned on his splayed hands, looking to Thor with honest curiosity.

"I thought you were the one who had this all figured out from the start?" Nostrils flaring, Thor counted the infuriating hairs that crossed Loki's brow in the soft breeze as he claimed his temper.

"'Tis only fair to let you pick the time, you are in such a hurry after all, to save your little toys."

Because he would see this pseudo banishment done thoroughly. A long bout of silence came and went between them, where Thor stared down at his hands and Loki watched the meandering mortal's mill about their camp. Another roar broke out, more singing. The words drifted up to them in vague jumbles on the wind, meaning lost, and the tone twisted.

"I will not abandon Mjolnir. Let them believe what they want of this _Torvig_ , I will not be fazed by it." And damn him if those of Midgard did damage his pride. He was not the sort of man himself to be so affected in the first place, it was ridiculous. Loki was silent beside him, and Thor went on. "I understand the necessity of it, hiding our true names from them; they would be distracted from their true conflict. But you must understand that one day, perhaps tomorrow, or a year off, however long we must stay here—they will learn who we are."

Loki's voice was steady and serious when he answered. "And when that day comes they will have come to know us as men and not the gods they revere so intently. Man can trust man only as one of their race is capable of trusting. Introduce a deity and that trust becomes worship, blind or otherwise."

Thor nodded, nearly to himself. It had been a long time since he and Loki had carried such conversation. It made him think of another battle, another time not too long ago. Another war.

Loki continued, lost in the depth of his own thoughts. "You do not fight worship with worship."

"What are we to do then, since we are gods?"

"Are we?"

Thor snorted. "To them, yes."

"I once revered a god," Loki said suddenly. Thor turned to him slowly, seeing the way he held the quiver of his brow, so fragile, vulnerable, in contrast to the firm set of his mouth, unmoving and with more rancor than was oft witnessed.

"And what happened, then?" Thor chanced. Loki did not turn to him.

"Too many things to put adequate name to."

And the words, the way he said them, snapped Thor's heart in a way he could not name.

 

OOO

In the end, Thor let Mjolnir lie in the crutch of several close growing trunks. The white of their bark gleamed and Thor wondered how imagined how beautiful it would look covered in snow, how eerie. To see the hammer of a star nestled amongst earthly trees.

Thor knew Loki was right on several points, though he also knew that they would be forced to reveal themselves one way or another. He also had no intention of being apart from Mjolnir for long. If the mortals decided to move camp, he would retire to the woods and beckon the hammer once more back to his eager hand. The only thing keeping the would-be anxiety at bay was the single fact only he could lift it.

Though Loki thought to push the issue.

"Come now, brother," he said, walking over to the hammer where Thor had only just dropped it. He'd been staring. He would yearn for the power of the stars in his fist in battle one day soon, and it would be missing, swapped instead for poor mortal forged steel and shield.

Loki stood near it and held out his hand, fingers splayed and palm open. He held it just behind the leather bound grip of Mjolnir and met Thor's eyes with amusement. He was enjoying this.

"Here." And then Loki was pulling at the handle, trying in earnest to lift it. There was a moment a touch of disappointment entered his green eyes, jealously too, Thor thought. But the two things were always present in his brother, painful in ways other's were not. Loki heaved another try and finally relinquished the attempt. He seemed to remember it had been for Thor's benefit, and not his own. "All is well and safe. No one will steal away your thunder."

Thor narrowed his eyes at him. He wanted to say, and if someone does, another body will roast on an ice-laden fire. But he didn't, because he knew it was not yet time to bring up that past war, not yet. He also knew it was a lie, pure and simple. Thor did not want to see his brother die. Though that did not erase the fact the threat slipped easily through his mind, like it was a natural thing to so wish death upon Loki.

Maybe it was, in a way. As of late, Thor had seen many things become almost second nature.

Thor watched as Loki brushed anxious hands against the leather of his undercoat, adjust the mass of fur across his shoulders, and set out for the path that would lead them to the river. And though they finally, finally set out to begin, Thor knew Loki's mind was most likely still back in that small jut of land, centered around Mjolnir. He could almost feel Loki's sight straining with the effort not to look back. His head twitched to the side once, and Thor frowned.

Thor's fingers twittered and reminded himself that soon, he would be calling himself another name, another man. He glowered and kept on.

"Let us be done with this quickly, then."

 

OOO

Light filtered through the trees lining the riverbank, spotting the ground in spots of yellow, gold, and green. Deep shadows lay beyond, in the thick of the forest, long shafts of stretching black, pulling along the ground the weight of their bodies, crawling like corpses come back to reclaim life with weak fingers and broken wrists. It reminded him of his brother.

Loki was out collecting an animal. Thor knew not what sort, and he didn't much care past the event of his brother bringing back anything at all to carry out his plan.

He would drown his brother today.

Somewhere in the distance, cold and willowy, a raven cackled and Thor wondered if Odin was watching his sons struggle so. Asgard would be mourning now, mourning the deaths of those they'd lost in Jotunheim, those they'd lost in the dark twisted caverns of Svartalfheim. Bodies burned by flame of a scaled mouth and gilded by the weight of gold stolen, and returned in heavy loss. The blight had not been lost on their father, or of their people. The loss was felt as shame in Asgard, and the disgrace of thieving that which was not meant to be challenged by such petty craft in the first place. In that, he had been a fool. The largest.

And then they had traveled from the failings of their sacking to the cold, wintery Realm of the Jotnar. Giant, malevolent creatures with large, heavy-browed scarred faces, red beads for eyes and the glittering of ice for adornment. Jewels littered their halls in the deepest of blues, greens, and reds, some gold—there had been gold in Thiazi's hall. Thor had remembered the thunder deep glow of it, the way it rung with power and promise and a history of a race of beasts. Animals.

Asgard had history, not those who would seek to contaminate it with pitiable conquest. Thor bit his lip at the memory.

Thiazi had burned for it. For his greed, his cocksure attitude, his tired grace and frozen wisdom. Thrym had been felled weeks before and he'd not been happy. Loki had tossed dancing flame between quick fingers and cheerful eyes and burned a Lord of Ice for the folly of having challenged the sons of Asgard. And that was all. That was all.

Mjolnir had sung with violence in his hand and he would have caved in the skull of that great, terrible Eagle if it had meant Loki would be spared the trouble of being included with him in this punishment. This banishment. He would have, had Loki not been quicker. The smooth, sly flow of vengeance had rung clear in Loki's eyes and the ebb of his arms. He had enjoyed his work, and Thor knew it. Often had it become when Thor recognized the fact that Loki was a familiar to a violence that sang the songs of bards who'd lived before there were songs to be sung, before there were ears to have heard them. Loki was enamored in a darkness Thor could rarely glance at, and still, for all the world in Loki's clever mind, Thor found he could not fault him his darkness.

It had stayed his hand as Laufey watched on, Thiazi's words echoing carelessly through the throne room of ice and rot, black leeching into blue, to purple, to white, reaching toward a dark muggy sky that blanched at the sign of their own sun. A rotting star for a rotting world.

Loki had filled a parlor of snow and ice with bright fire that day. Thor had never seen such red as the red in Laufey's eyes.

The crunching of leaves and gravel beneath heaving step was what brought back Thor to the present. Another war, he reminded himself. Reflection on dark things for another day.

Loki carried the carcass of a large buck, one leg torn through and left open to the wind which had been steadily picking up as the his brother searched the woods. Thor had waited only on Loki's command. Let his brother exhaust himself.

But Loki seemed happy. Proud. Cocky. But these were outweighed in the significance of his smile. It was a look he had not seen cross his brother's features since they'd been children, for rarely did Loki smile so wide these days. He had to look away towards the mortal's encampments so that he did not smile himself.

He wondered at the state of the buck, the leg was ruined, and he knew Loki was more than capable of a clean kill. He would not have botched it so. And he was walking fast, stepping down the hill in near-skips, leaves scuttling and knocking dirt loose on his way down. In the camp, already he noticed how the sounds of conversations and music had died down, quieting to observe who so dared to enter their land, let alone their war camp.

At the first sound and sight of water sloshing from Loki's movements, Thor rose to a crouch, prepared for the signal when he would approach. And then it came.

"Greetings, my generous men! I would see you indulge a young hunter his humble offering of an early morning trade!" At Loki's shouting welcome, a few men began to wander over. One was laughing and nudging another, disbelieving, some looked ready to challenge Loki, and others readied their weapons.

It was time.

"Hey! That was my kill!" Thor bellowed in mock rage, the weight of his pack knocking against his shoulders as he crossed from trees and bush to high grasses, to the rocky edges of the shallow river, and into the water itself.

He chased after Loki, noting the convincing surprise there. His brother blanched and, no longer smiling, tried to hurry through the water. Thor nearly forgot this was Loki's idea as Loki shouted over to him some few feet ahead, "I tracked this beast for miles, leave us in peace for an honest chance at a fair trade." The water was waist deep here, as Thor shuffled through the current, chilled to the bone, clothes soaked through and weighing heavily.

A wave of anger overtook him. Again, he was suffering trite things such as the _elements_ at the will of his brother, his maddening, damning brother. The welling of the harboring of repressed rage and lost trust began to swell and tear where the seams saw fit to stretch. Out of every tear and burst came the spilling of each and every wrong Loki had done him. Every memory of that ill-fated war just scant months past, the weight of this new banishment. The knowledge that Mjolnir lay in the woods on a hill abandoned because Loki _saw it as necessary_.

It was all true furor as Thor reached for Loki, mock surprise being muffled out by true shock as Thor gripped his bicep and tore him from his path, shoving him bodily into the freezing water. Let his Jotun of a brother face the true cold of a climate that would only worsen soon enough in the coming snows. Thor knew the weather better than Loki did, let his brother suffer it instead.

Loki's green eyes flashed vivid and furious and panicked, shimmering beneath the surface, real terror reflected there. And then he shut his eyes and forced his mouth shut, lean arms tearing at the hands bound about his throat, holding him under. Thor was not only drowning Loki, he was strangling him. And he found he could not entirely care.

Would the Realms benefit the loss of his brother?

Loki was struggling in earnest now; Thor could feel the controlled tension of his bent form loosen with each moment. His legs began to kick at Thor's own, firmly planted between stones and reeds, immovable. Hands grappled for his fingers, and not just blindly reaching to tear at his arms and hands. Loki was trying to pry each finger individually away, and that was when Thor realized he was shouting at Loki, where he could not even hear him.

Green shot open again and bubbles escaped as Thor squeezed tighter, forcing Loki to take breaths he could not spare, drinking the air he did not have. Thor wondered what it felt like, to be drowned.

And then all at once, Loki stopped kicking and the fingers that pried at his own went limp, trailing sickly slow against the skin of his thumbs and palms before floating at his sides. One arm bent with the flow of water and became trapped against Thor's hip, dead weight. Thor watched as Loki's eyes lost focus beneath the water, the bubbles ceased. Panic seized him and he wrenched Loki out of the water. He drew Loki against him and beat once, twice against his back, the hand still around his neck now supporting instead of threatening. Then there was water across his shoulder and great, violent heaving, and the flurry of hands against chest as Loki shoved hard at Thor.

Thor relaxed enough to realize that he almost killed Loki and then Loki took the chance to scramble away, sloshing ungracefully and falling once, slipping in the current, before struggling back to his feet.

There was fear there, in his eyes.

And then it was masked by a sneer so wretched Thor flinched. Idly, numbly, he went after the forgotten buck, having drifted some ways away, only to return to the mortals now surrounding his brother. They were questioning him fiercely, one laughed, and then they all turned to Thor when he approached.

The buck dropped with a heavy thud beside him as he found Loki's eyes. He sat with legs spread wide before him, elbows on his knees, and jaw jutting forth. His eyes were bloodshot and already Thor could see bruising along his neck beneath his soaked collar. Thor stepped forward, testing. Loki stared. And then green flitted away, to the ground.

One of the men grunted in way of hello and said, "Lok here says you tried to take his game."

Blue eyes narrowed as he said with careful purpose, "My brother says many things."

Loki's gaze snapped to his and oh, what a vicious edge his eyes held then.

Thor smiled at the men then, received their names in return of his own pseudonym. A false name to a face many of them had forgotten. Somewhere, a part of him was made sad at the fact, but there was nothing to be done about it. Not yet.

The men who'd been willing to allow them a night of food and rest in exchange for the buck, courtesy of 'Lok' and 'Torvig' both, to Thor's amusement, were Alric, Branson, and one so young Thor would have named him a child if not for the smudge of blacksmith's grease across his face and the wired muscles in his arms as he explained the mechanics of their encampment in hasty detail. His name, he eventually learned, was Helgi.

When Thor commented on the immensity of their people, Alric, an older, grizzled man was the one to say they were moving up the river and picking off scouts. Men in robes and cloaks that billowed as they rode, spreading messages of love and peace, when they were truly sending word to their allies, to ready arms and fight.

Local tribes were turning against their own gods, he'd said, and Thor had swallowed thickly.

"War is coming," Alric had said. Thor nodded, grim, understanding in more ways than simple Torvig should have been privy to.

Eventually, Thor earned him and Loki the right to stay for a while. The truth of disputing brothers muted easily by the peace offering Loki had so cleverly contracted, though he stood silently by as Thor interacted with them.

One point saw Alric—quickly stepping forth as a head figure, though hardly dressed as a chieftain might—clapping a large, four fingered hand to Thor's shoulder, saying, "I'll send a boy to gather you and your brother later on. The night brings celebration here, and we would commemorate our latest victory by honoring our fallen brothers and sons."

Thor had easily accepted, as he was expected to. At this point, several others had wandered over and for the first time, Thor saw through the crowd milling about in the far distance, a child. A small boy, toddling about. Bread was tossed to him and he laughed.

Was it truly only a war camp?

It was nearing the middle of the day, the sun hanging full, bright, and heavy in the sky far above, glowing radiance and heat. It had been hardly any time at all, and already these mortals were accepting them into their fold, enough so that they were offering a place amongst them. Mortals were easily cajoled when the need arose. Perhaps it was the wide smile Thor wore as Torvig, the gentle words full of boisterous charm and practiced confidence, easily used when summoned. Natural as the way he still felt the hum of Mjolnir, far away under cover of trees. But the mortal men, Alric and the others, they didn't seem to notice any other emotion within him other than joviality and desire for kinship with fellow countrymen. Their smiles were reward for his own. This, this came to him the easiest.

As they were led away into the bowels of the encampment, he could feel Loki's unrelenting glare as a constant, burning weight.

 

OOO

"They asked few questions of us," Thor said, running a hand over the wood of one table.

They'd been given a single, large tent, heavy animal skins and fabric weighing down the posts that rooted the structure secure. Chests were placed along the sides, three of them, of a dark wood. A rack for tanning leather, though it was empty. A few barrels in one corner with various scrap materials, and rack for weapons, also empty. At their wandering gazes, Alric informed them it belonged to one of the men that had died in pursuit of a scout. And then he had departed, telling them when he would send someone to retrieve them. Thor was left to taking in the draperies of the tent. Deep blacks and reds with a woven brown rope closing the entrance from any wayward soldiers. Soldiers that would bother two _hunters_.

Their story was created quickly and simply. Torvig and Lok moved around, living off the land and trading with what few villages they came across. Expert hunters, deserving of a few mugs of mead, Alric had said, smiling. The fact they had no notion that war was escalating in their land was overlooked. Alric had glowered and Helgi had made a face, but Thor knew there would be more words later, tonight. Ironic, to celebrate the deaths of men he never knew when back home, in Asgard, the people mourned them.

Loki threw his pack down at his own pallet, turning his back to Thor.

Maybe not them both.

The thought made his stomach churn and so he walked closer to Loki, dropping pack beside his own pallet on his way.

"Loki?"

Nearing, Thor saw Loki had his hand at the base of his throat, glaring at the floor. His hand dropped when his name was said and his head turned slightly to the side. "Do you think I was standing, ashamed, as you blathered on?"

"What—" Thor began, but Loki finally turned to face him fully, he drew out the pouch of runes from within his robes and, taking up Thor's hand in his own, placed the bag in his palm. "You worked their minds…"

And then Loki was snatching the pouch back and shoving it beneath layers and layers of clothing. Thor caught a sliver of furious green before Loki was walking past him.

"Loki, where are you going? We do not know the workings of the camp—"

"Precisely." And then Loki was gone into the organized chaos of the camp and men milling about.

The woven rope lay in the dirt and trampled grass, a broken tether.

Thor let his hand drop, looking to the floor, rooted, before turning finally and setting out what he would need for the night and the weeks to come.

 


	5. Where Loyalty Will Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither the Norse, Marvel, nor the gods.
> 
> I am so sorry about the lack of update! I’ve been busy preparing for the new semester and working on art.
> 
> Things are beginning to heat up a little. I have so much planned. Now the action begins~

" _There is much lack of wisdom in such brutality."_  


_The Saga of the Volsungs_

OOO

There was a breeze of bitter wind, sliding past the tents and men still about, chilling those who went bare-chested, some retreating to the minor respite their tents offered, some smiling in challenge against it, happy that winter was licking at their heels. Thor just felt the fine hair rise along his neck and arms, the skin of his face tingling, numb. He thought of Loki.

Night crept along, the dark claiming the hours slowly, and yet quickly. Sounds were dying down outside and Thor found himself enclosed in a sort of pseudo silence. Muttering and the crackle of a fire, the padded sound of feet over dirt were the only sounds around him. He expected the great celebration of this feast Alric had promised him, when they would be led to the chieftain of this war camp.

But there had been no herald.

And Loki still was missing.

Thor toyed with the buckle of a thick leather belt tied at his waist until his finger caught. He sat up, tired of wiling away his time waiting for whom he knew would not show for a long while yet.

Thor stepped to the opening of the tent, holding apart the skins of the flaps with cautious hands, peering out into the oncoming night. A fire burned some ways off and the majority of those still up gravitated toward it, warming their hands and sharing tales. No sign of black hair or viper green eyes, and so he abandoned the effort. Let Loki disgrace their hosts, he would not be a part of it.

He straightened, caught in the possibilities of what would come tonight. Loki had seamlessly eased their minds, their hearts enough to accept them, listened to Thor's words enough so that they had been given shelter and offered food. They were to dine with mortal strangers tonight, under the guise of oblivious hunters, and Thor worried if they would have to continuously use the aid of smile and runework to slick the suspicion of these men. Just how long would he have to carry his false name? How many months, years would he be forced to carry the burden of the title _mortal_?

They watched him as he passed, walking to he knew not where, just content to wander. It had been long since he had been able to roam free of the threat of battle. Though perhaps an ounce of threat still lingered here; as they sized him up, considering the newcomer to their camp. His lips curved upward and Thor continued on, unbothered and not the least bit unamused.

He passed butcher and brewer and blacksmith, tanner, forgeman, and a scaler of fish. Though the light of day was waning, the man still continued on, shucking tiny pricks of light to the ground, like it was calming to him, slinging the bodies on string to dry afterwards. He paid no mind to Thor's curious stare. Most of them didn't. They knew he wouldn't be here among them had he not been allowed. Thor wondered if Loki had received the same treatment, or if he'd caused fury in his path. His brother had a wicked talent for causing offense, and he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

He caught snippets of conversation here and there among those he passed. Some from those resting, some from those he walked near enough to hear. _The river was their end._ And then, _No, it was their own blasted glory mongering! They died worthy, so let it be._ Thor gathered they were speaking of the men who had died in their most recent battle.

The whispers were cautious now, as they lowered their voices to speak of the future. _Think you he'll try the river again? Cut it off, like he wants?_ There was a snort. _Hardly, 'less he wants us all to shrivel up. We'll be moving again 'fore you know it, just you watch._

The whispers mingled as the crowd grew around him and it became too difficult to discern who was saying what. They were gathering toward the center, where he knew the chieftain would be housed, where the ceremony would take place.

Thor spared a moment of annoyance for the whereabouts of his brother, but why should he wait if he was where they were to be summoned anyway? And so, he continued on.

OOO

His knees were sodden from where he knelt. The massive, vibrant hum of ever powerful Mjolnir sat in the cluster of shrubbery so close, so close. Loki felt his fingers twitch, his arms thrum.

The runework lacing the hammer's star-forged metal bounced around the clearing like a magnet, both drawing him towards it and rejecting him. He doubted Thor could feel the esoteric intimacies of his own weapon, doubted he knew what it was to a seidmadr like him. Thor knew not the pain of being so constantly near the infernal creation and knowing he could never have it. He'd had the damn thing made, and still he was lost to even lift it an inch.

He'd tried, earlier. Had tried for so long his face had flushed and he'd felt sweat pool on his chest beneath his robes and furs. He'd cast them to the ground hours before, and now he knelt in the dampened grass and dirt, ruined for all the world to see. His head ached, and his stomach rolled, wanting food. But still he sat, just staring at it. Like anything would change, for him. Like any manner of time invested in such an arcane weapon would ease his way to its calling. Like he would learn the answer it so dearly needed. But the concept eluded him, as rarely anything did.

Would if he could only bargain with the thing, like he could with so many others. He could hardly even bargain with Thor. Was that then, the answer? Make it come to a point with Thor so that he conceded to his brother's wielding it? Make Thor allow the transaction?

Loki barked quick, cold laughter into the coming night, hands pressing into the dirt beneath him. It didn't work like that. He knew how it worked. Knew how the marvel of a forged star became so lost to him. He had grasped that handle once, had seen it hefted in his hands like any other item of war, and yet, here he was, empty handed and wanting.

If only the Norns had answered when summoned in place of that Mimir. Loki shivered at the memory, the onslaught of visions the old, disembodied Jotun had given him. His burden now, to forever see Thor lying cold and still, blue eyes gone dull and the thunder ripped from the sky.

Loki shut his eyes. His throat ached more than the rest of him, and he remembered the river.

Loki pulled himself to standing, knowing he was needed for appearances to assuage the mortal's primal concept of conduct. But not yet. He gathered his things in one arm, intending to leave them in the tent they'd been given before he was summoned to their little ceremonial celebration. He imagined Asgard, toasting the loss of their dark prince, the prince who whispered cold ice on each breath.

They wept for Thor, but never him.

Loki could not keep away. He walked to Mjolnir, slowly, tiredly. One last try, one last attempt stolen in the wake of Thor's absence, like so many times before. Worn, weathered fingers, so thin and weak to him in that moment, wrapped about the leathered hilt and just stayed there. He felt the weight of it in his hand, and allowed himself the thought that he had just swung it and was simply resting his arm. Wary green eyes slipped close and he smiled a tentative curve of lips as he gripped it, imagining another time. A time he was robbed of long before the chance was ever presented to him.

But then the wind blew and he swayed only a small bit, and the barest amount of pressure was applied—and he tugged and he felt the immovable weight of it stay where it would stay until Thor retrieved it. A reminder, brought on the current of air, thin and quick and bitter, like him.

Loki clutched his furs about him and turned back the way he had come.

OOO

Sound rolled like crashing waves as Thor found his way inside the large tent, taking care not to shove as he passed. He went unnoticed easily enough, there were plenty here easily as large as he and he did not stand out so much as a faux mortal as he would a revealed god.

"Brandish your blade, brother. If you have the gall," one voice rose. A few nearest the speaker heckled with him in approval.

"The gall?" A laugh rang out, rich and deep in reply. "I think you scared of the things if you cannot call them what they are." And the responder grabbed at his crotch with a gnarled hand.

Another insult was thrown back at him with raised arms waving and spit flying from the first man's mouth and the crowd gathered in the chieftain's tent roared with laughter. Thor smiled and lingered near the back, keeping an eye out for both his brother and the chieftain.

He spotted the one from earlier, who had not said much; Branson. He had a stern eye for the jovial exchanges about him and it reminded Thor of the curdling looks Tyr oft held for Loki, though not with quite so much malice as the war god.

Alric's form passed near the back, shrugging past the heavy canvas and coming back out with a wooden bowl of bread. He dropped it on the table for those gathered to ransack before slipping through the other side again, shadow wavering as he gnawed on his own hunk of floury loaf. Thor felt his stomach lurch, realizing he hadn't eaten since the night before, but he ignored it. He would rather wait than push forward for bread where attention could be drawn to him. He carried no blade since he had Mjolnir. But she was gone from him and his warrior's form accompanied with lack of weapon could raise questions.

The curtain rustled and he recognized the profile of Alric shuffle past once more, four fingered hand waving at the men gathered to quiet themselves.

It was then that the skin of his neck prickled and he sensed someone beside him. Loki had sidled next to him, too close and in his space. His eyes were wide, clear and ever observant. Thor nudged him with an elbow gently, gesturing to where Alric was.

"I think they are about to start. Where have you been?"

Loki's eyes flicked to him as he leaned back against the support beam of the tent. He handed something wrapped in linen to Thor and he knew it was food. He shook his head, smirking as he unraveled the thing and began eating. Their shoulders touched as Loki crossed his arms, angling his head to see.

He said, "Out and about, I needed air. What is all this, then? They have yet to begin?"

"Aye," Thor affirmed. He noticed now that Loki was no longer wearing his array of robes and furs as before, instead he wore but a long tunic of linen beneath a high collared leather surcoat.

He toyed with a belt about his waist as he considered the audience gathered. "When they address us, do be quiet. I will speak."

Thor grunted, not intending to obey in the slightest, but he nodded, for the sake of his brother. Loki only smiled viciously, knowing Thor too well.

He leaned closer him, voice lowered. "There are women about in this camp."

"I saw a child earlier." And he frowned despite his surprise. "It isn't safe for them."

"Perhaps they fight," Loki suggested.

"Bah."

Loki huffed. "The one I saw was sharpening blades with a whetstone."

Thor met his eyes. "I have met no maiden who does such things aside from Sif."

Loki raised his eyebrows, lips curling. "Ah, but maybe she was no maiden. Why not take a look for yourself when next you wander around? You find your way 'neath a woman's skirts easily enough."

Thor jabbed an elbow square in his chest and Loki's laugh came out a cough. But the smile stayed bright on his face.

Alric jabbed the curtains wide, sweeping past them with a slightly shorter man following him out. Alric glowered at all gathered but Thor spotted the way his mouth quivered with the hint of a hidden smile. He took his seat off center, saving the middle one empty. The others had gone quiet and when someone coughed, it was painfully loud.

A man with a pale face and lightly freckled skin, blond hair thick about his chin but close to the sides of his face stepped with purpose, deliberate, wide, powerful, though he remained standing. The furs he wore were of a wolf, and they shone sleek and black and dangerous. His cuffs were woven gold. His lip split where a thick scar marred one side, coming to rest somewhere just above his cheek. He was bald, save for a continuing slash much like the first, stretching from the top of his skull and disappearing somewhere along the back of his neck. His eyes were pale blue and Thor noticed immediately the man hardly blinked. It would have been jarring had he not seen Loki do the same on occasion. Staring thus spoke of an eeriness in people, and Thor felt the same from this one, who was obviously the chieftain.

"Our brothers Sam and Valin fell upon the sun's rising not two days past. They took the heads of two men each and the heart of one besides. Alric will see their ribs laid bare for the next fool comes wandering into our home." He spoke quietly, and it commanded silence. His speech was thick and accented and Thor felt a weary grace pour off him, much like Odin had a way about him, when he merely stepped into a room.

Loki shifted beside him at the mention of the Eagle.

"Tonight we will see a mighty pyre for each of them. They deserved much greater. Had I seen us any closer to the sea they would be well off. But this, this we can do at least. Their ashes will powder the land and grow strong in the crops the Christians see fit to grow here." Mutters went round, some angry, some enthusiastic.

The man gripped the back of his chair. There was a growing fury there in his face, making his cheeks go ruddy. "Better they die by the sword than live to see the way our brothers and sisters, our sons, our wives and daughters turned by the white cross of a false _God_!" And he spit on the word. "Better to see them to the hall of their father's fathers and in the heart of Odin Allfather than in a land that would sooner see their men buried by the leaf of a book than the light of a pyre and the glory of a feast!" A chorus of cheers rose at this. "Rather they watch on as we make our way true to bright Valhalla, to clasp their hands and say we won!"

The room stirred and voices rose, and Thor felt a shiver of pride run down his spine.

"Will we win, my brothers?" He asked, fist raising and pale eyes scanning each man as they rose with him.

"Aye!"

"Will we," And his chin lifted, spittle flying as he yelled the word, "win?!"

"Aye!" The chant was a ringing in Thor's ears.

The pride of men well seasoned and well trusted sang true in his eyes as he took his seat, and the others with him. Those who had seats to sit upon. Thor knew only those closest and highest ranking had a seat at their lord's table.

Loki's voice was all soft excitement in his ear. "Oh, I do like him."

OOO

The quick form of Helgi darted out from behind the great curtain to deliver to the pale eyed man a quill and several sheaves of parchment. Eloquent lettering graced the pages and as he looked upon them, the Chief deigned to either sign them or crumple them, tossing them somewhere behind. Helgi gathered them each and all and when finished, the quill and ink as well.

It was slow, and Thor witnessed several men come before their leader to propose some such request of hunting or fishing rights, the desire to pursue a scout they'd tagged and so on and so forth. He was beginning to bore though Loki watched the events with a keen eye. He'd taken to fingering the loop of gold he had about one wrist as he observed the procession, familiar as it was to them back on Asgard. For they'd been made to sit through countless such courtly proceedings in the past, as they undoubtedly would in the future. Thor would be eager to change that when he held Gungnir one day.

Finally, after what seemed forever, the chieftain scanned those attended and his serious visage landed upon where he and Loki stood, in the far corner. He bid them forward with a tilt of his head and a bemused tilt to his mouth.

"Show yourselves, hunters. I would know the men who sleep on dead men's cots."

Thor shrugged his way past those who found their curiosity to outweigh their better judgment to look directly upon his face, in his eyes as he passed. He did not smile, and he did not give an air of welcoming to such blatant staring, and for that, these mortals were bold. But what was one man to look upon another?

Loki stepped neatly beside him, hands clasped in front of him in a stance of silent expectation. Thor could sense his own curiosity of the chieftain rolling off his brother in waves.

"Well, who are you? I find myself one beast richer and two men added to my meager group." He smirked on the word, obviously an understatement.

"I am Lok, and this," spoke Loki, pointing to Thor, "Is Torvig."

The man nodded, raking pale eyes over the both of them before speaking. "I am Roan. Lord of the land you stand on and leader of this army of men." He eyed them up and down again, finding no qualms in their obvious athletic strength. Perhaps there was a reason Loki had divested himself of such hulking robes after all. Perhaps not. "Hunters, hm? And unaware of the world I hear." Beside him, Alric watched them with a wondering gaze. Hear you the Christian way?"

"How can one hear that which is hardly a sound?" Thor said, despite Loki's earlier command. There was a roil of laughter from those gathered and Thor even caught a small smile from Loki beside him at his words.

Roan was stone faced. "You are brothers, fighting each other over a beast in our water supply. Why such needless toil if all you intended to do was end it in fists?"

The question could be asked of everything we do, thought Thor, though he put no voice to it.

Loki was the next to speak. "Why do you think my brother is fat where I am lean, he steals all my hard won food." More laughter.

Roan huffed out a gruff laugh. "I suppose it is the way of brothers." He looked across to where the two from before had been arguing and exchanging insults with each other, and they grinned. Roan settled his gaze back on Thor and Loki, relaxing in his seat a bit more. "You do not look like hunters. Pardon my misgivings."

"You thought us loyal to the white priests?" Loki asked.

"One can never be sure in these times. Shameful, that. Our Godi tells me there will be blood to last centuries. How am I to worry over centuries when most have hardly the one?" And the laugh that forced its way from him then was cruel and honest and made his face crinkle happily.

"Pardon ours, for we have been on our own for some time. We have forgotten the lords of the lands we hunt, foolish as that is. When you are on the move for nigh on a year, in so many lands, it is as if you are in another realm entire, each with its own rules and conduct one must adapt to in order to survive. We have only ever had each other to rely on and that makes us headstrong in the company of others." Loki bowed his head slightly, looking to the floor. "We offer our hunt this morning to your men, so they may enjoy an added bounty to their feast."

"Well spoken," Roan muttered, pleased.

Well spoken indeed, brother, Thor thought, as images of slain Jotnar and battle burdened dwarves flashed through his mind. As he watched the way his brother spoke of Thor like he, too, regarded him as the brother he wanted to be. His fingers twitched where they lay at his sides.

"We celebrate the lives of the men we lost this night. Mind you both the burden of seeing to our toil along with us?"

Loki straightened, the breadth of a smile spreading his lips, "It would be the highest of honors."

OOO

The night proved to be a haze of drink and fire and buoyant cheering and singing and the odd scuffle or two, leaving the contesters happy and honored by the gods they still held so close to their breast as they breathed. Thor felt a bittersweet guilt at the sight of it, and so he balanced the feeling with drink, goblet drained after goblet tossed. He witnessed Loki swallow several goblets himself, though he never seemed to waver so much as he himself did. Loki even was the one to help him on their way back to their tent.

Thor tugged on Loki's wrist as he drew the canvas closed, the rope tied securely but Loki shrugged him off with a scowl. Loki waved flippantly at Thor's pallet, dismissing him as he went to his own.

Thor straightened and went to a barrel he'd had filled with water earlier, grabbing the wooden divet on the side to ladle the liquid to his mead-honeyed lips. The flesh of his throat sang in relief with the cool water. He splashed some across his face and went to stretch on his furs, limbs splayed out beside him. His mind sobered with each passing moment, and with it thoughts laden with that same remorse from earlier.

Thor chose to bypass his storming thoughts by focusing on his brother. He looked over to Loki, still standing and reaching arms high overhead to remove the tunic he wore. Loki pulled off both boots and let his breeches hang loose about his waist as he finally removed his belts and went to put them all in the chest across from him.

"He is a good leader, Roan. He does well by his people," Thor remarked idly, watching how Loki did not look to him once.

"They do not seem lacking," Loki said in that vague way he had when he agreed with Thor.

"They hardly asked a thing of him. It was surprising, in the state they're in."

Loki bent and divested himself of the rest he wore until he stood in only his smallclothes.

"Aye." And then Loki was lying back on his own pallet, a generous amount of furs beneath him. He wrapped one about his waist and tucked it beneath his arms.

Thor moved to lay on his side, watching the way Loki scratched absently at his collar. Narrowed green slid to blue across the short distance that separated them and he said, "Ask what you will, now. I don't intend to tarry the night away heeding endless questions."

"I hurt you."

A green eye twitched. "Why say that?"

"You have bruises all about your throat."

Loki just watched him blankly. Then, "Aye, you robbed me of air."

"It was your idea, Loki," Thor warned, voice hardening even though he willed it not to. Loki just stared. He wondered what went on inside that clever head of his.

"I know."

"I would not have killed you!" Thor said, half pleading for a reason that eluded him. The sound came out defensive and raised.

Still, that blank expression. "I know."

Thor pushed himself to sitting, braced on one palm. Only vaguely aware of the way his face crumpled in on itself, he felt a wash of shame overtake him. "Loki, please."

"Go to sleep, Thor. We have a long journey ahead."

Then Loki rolled over, and did not speak.

Thor quieted, not looking away from the painting of bruises about his brother's neck for many hours.

And he knew neither of them slept that night.

OOO

In the morning, they were summoned by a boy other than Helgi. He was a bit younger, and did not meet their eyes. He ran off as soon as he'd delivered his message.

_Come to Roan, for he would have words on your place here._

And so, Thor switched out of the tunic he'd not slept in for another one, the golden thread hidden underneath the mound of fur he wore about his shoulders. He splashed water against his face, blinking wayward drops from his eyes, in an effort to chase away the mead still lingering thickly in his mind, his body. He ached, and knew it was a mistake to have forgone asleep fully dressed as soon as he'd, technically, woken, but there was no help for it now. He rubbed at his neck while biting off pieces of cheese, his fast broken so there would be no want of hunger later on. Thor did not know how long Roan would keep them this time.

Loki dressed quickly and silently. He had only nodded at the messenger and, after his departure, gone to the chest he'd claimed his own to rifle through his own things. He pulled out several vials and a sheepskin pouch, placing them aside so that he could reach for something else.

"Loki?" Thor ventured. But Loki ignored him. The bruises stood strong and dark against the pale column of his neck as he bent and searched.

After a short while, Loki pulled forth a hand and a half sword, curved at the end very slightly. Thor recognized it from several previous conquests and wondered why Loki chose to bring it with him now, but said nothing as he tucked it away against his side, hidden by the drape of the soft cloak he wore. After replacing the vials and pouch, he belted on his usual fur cloak and ran a hand through dark hair, flicking his gaze to Thor once before turning to leave.

Thor hurried forward and gripped Loki's forearm, yanking him to a standstill.

Loki turned indifferent eyes to him, and it was nearly as bad as if he'd been furious. Thor had hoped for such.

"Loki, please. I meant what I said last night."

"Of course. I do not doubt it."

Thor frowned, bringing his other hand up to hover near his throat, Loki's eyes narrowing at him suspiciously, challenging.

"I lost my mind for a moment. I was not myself," Thor said, voice soft.

"I am often at the mercy of the mindless," Loki bit back, but allowed it when Thor pressed his hand to the expanse of his throat, covering the bruises from view.

Would if he could only erase the marks. Marks that shouted at him how he had almost killed Loki. How he had nearly ended the life of his brother, over nothing more than past aggression. Recent, yes, so recent it burned like bile in his throat, but past. Past, because he wished to never be brought so low again. To the level of murdering kin—it was a vile thought for the lowest of beasts.

Loki watched him, eyes bright and observant, picking apart every mannerism he could. Thor shifted his hand, feeling soft hair beneath his fingers, and he felt Loki lean into it for all of a moment before he let his hand drop.

"It will not happen again," Thor said.

But Loki smiled like it was a lie.

"Roan is waiting," Loki muttered, smile dropping, and Thor's fingers burned.

OOO

Roan inclined his scarred head as they entered, the fingers of one hand splayed on the oaken table before him over a great map. The territories were marred with ink, blood, and tears that had been patched. Barely.

At the far end of the table stood Branson, arms crossed, and Alric, eyes tired and circled from lack of sleep. They both raised their heads at their entrance, but said nothing as Roan straightened minutely.

"There is little reason I have to turn you both away, and equally as little to keep you on," the man began, voice firm and factual. He looked at each of them. "There is no reason to trust either of you as envoys, as warriors—though this one looks as good a berserker as any." And his eyes raked over Thor where he stood. "Or even hunters, for we have plenty. Tell me, boys, what should I do with the likes of either of you?"

Loki fought back the snort he would have given at the word _boys_ , instead looking over and meeting Thor's eyes, much the same as his in the amusement they held there. Roan must have taken it as some sign of relief, for he relaxed into a standing posture not quite so focused on the lay of his land. The map curled without his weight.

"So, you both have no say against staying on? Fighting for us?"

"We would fight with you. It is our land to roam as it is yours," Thor said, voice clear.

Loki nodded, crossing his arms. "Let us rid this land of these cross bearing vermin. If it is our worthiness of trust you hold in question, then allow us to prove our favor of your cause by doing some task you would see done."

"A challenge." And Thor was smiling beside him, smug in his confidence. Loki's chest swelled, feeling the same thrill.

Roan smiled, thin and small, eyes crinkling in that way Loki had seen before, on the face of Odin. It put him ill at ease, mind swarming with memories, and every reason he had not to trust this mortal. But it was of no consequence, he was not Odin after all.

Alric shifted where he stood, and said, "Why not get a scale out of them, huh?" And though Branson's face twisted in disapproval, Alric laughed.

Roan rolled his eyes. "Will you keep that blasted idea where you found it? Olaf is an idiot."

"He is spirited, though, can't fault him that."

"The Hav do not exist, the man is a damned fool. So best ye rest that idea before it locks in the meat of your brain too."

"The what?" Thor's voice started, curious.

Loki answered him. "The Hav are merfolk, brother. The Havman being handsome male creatures of the sea and the Havfrue the fairest sea maiden you could look upon. They are gentle, save for their bite."

Alric roared, eyes lighting as he clapped his hands together. It earned him a vicious glare from Roan but it did nothing to quell his enjoyment of the situation.

He said, "See? Let them go and do Olaf's little hunt."

Roan finally turned fully to face Alric, Branson tensing slightly as he backed away from the two. "You are as much a blind man as Olaf is. Why send two new boys, who could do us actual good, on a hunt for something that does not exist?"

"I see no folly in it, lord."

All turned to look at Loki.

"We will find a scale of the Hav. And if we do not, we will bring back treasure from the camp across the way, just north of the river here." Pale eyes narrowed as Loki went on. "The Christians are loud, I've come across them before. I think."

"Have you now?" And Roan's voice was all suspicion, thick and unhappy.

"I might have. My brother and I do move around quite a bit. It would be difficult to miss something so annoying as men yelling the occasional heathen at me as I drove a knife into their throat."

If not for Thor's blatant confusion and _shock_ that was so obvious in his expression, Loki knew this lie would be seen for the obvious one it was. He had heard their pleas, but Thor had not, he remembered. Loki knew. Thor did not.

Roan considered them both, reaching some unknown conclusion in his head as he did. There was quiet for a long while, unpleasant and rife with tension, where Thor shifted twice before finally settling.

"Fine. Seeing as these fish women do not exist and you will both surely die in the attempt on our enemy—go. Go and do not return empty handed lest you wish to be branded enemy, and have your ribs laid out."

Roan eyed them critically. Mouth downturned and countenance…sad in a way.

"I would not see two others who celebrated the lives of my fallen brothers dead at my hand." And something in his tone rang clear; _not again_.

"We will return with scale or treasure, or you will not see us again. That, we can both promise you," Thor said, hand on his chest, honest, adamant. He bowed his head, as did Loki, and then they turned and left.

"Do these creatures exist, Loki? Or will I be able to swing Mjolnir again and wipe out this enemy everyone is so eager to grab at?" Thor asked quietly beside him as they walked. Their tent was within sight, and they would be able to pack and be off by nightfall.

"Of course they do. Why else would I have agreed so readily to it?"

"You lie, perhaps?"

Loki snorted, walking ahead to Thor's chuckle.


	6. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither the Norse, Marvel, nor the gods.
> 
> Endless apologies for the wait again! I've been busy with college and building an art portfolio on my own time. Also busy compiling a personal library on Norse things. Extra long chapter this time in apology! Hope you enjoy it~ *Laughs into the night*

 

 

 

" _Midnight hours_

_Cobbled street passages_

_Forgotten savages, forgotten savages."_

_MS MR - Bones  
_

OOO _  
_

Bold and grinning and everlasting; this was the face of the great tree. Golden hues and twisting bark like wire, spiraling to the heavens, piercing the clouds. Completely unafraid, feared, and worshipped. Bodies hung on rope, golden thread, unbreakable chain, and snapped plastic. Blood stained some branches where others were burned off. Some carried the budding sprouts of new, bright life, young and green and untouched by the chaos of the world.

Birds sung, and the sound of bark snapping off overhead could be heard. The stags danced happily somewhere above and below, in another realm entire, a great snake lay chewing.

This was Yggdrasil.

Balder rode through the vibrant colors and soft leaves underfoot, his steed chomping on its earth woven bit and tossing its head every so often. Balder rubbed a calming hand over the cords of its neck, trying to soothe the beast. He would feed it a bit of seed jerky if he had any.

He had journeyed for days, weeks, years it seemed like. Eons had stretched before him and spanned behind him, and it was all he could do to keep on. Frigga's voice had been a constant companion in his mind, the lilt of her soft timbre an ever present reminder of what he had to return to. He would not die here. Hela would not claim his body, and the Norns would not laugh at the short end to the line of his life carved upon the expansive trunk.

Wymen who coveted but a plant. That is what he told himself. It helped little.

He was nearly there.

 

 

OOO

The way to the lake described was but a day's journey apart from where Roan had his men settled. A jarl keen enough to settle a small army was a powerful one, or an arrogant one. If the Christians truly were just north of their settlement, then they would engage soon. Either that or the priests would march in the company of those who comprised their own battlement; shouting blessings and curses, trying to save the heathen souls of their enemy. Loki could nearly taste the blood in the air and Thor was all electric energy beside him.

They'd brought little for their task, for they had even less need of it. They were of Asgard, and had no cause to doubt their abilities in the face of something otherworldly the mortals had trouble even believing in. But he knew the ones called Havman and Havfrue, and more. He knew the creatures of the dark though Thor did not.

Loki had said nothing when Thor had summoned Mjolnir back to his hand, far beyond content with being away from the Norsemen. Thunder had threaded through the sky for several hours, threatening rain. None came; a thoughtful refrain from his brother, Loki thought to himself. It would be unpleasant to camp in the muck when they returned, no matter how many tents had been erected or cooking pits lit.

"I wonder if you will bring fire, the way the clouds gather so strangely," Loki spoke beside him.

Thor rolled his shoulders, tossing his head back to sniff the air. "Maybe I will bring snow. An early present."

"I am the only one allowed to bestow gifts, have you forgotten?" And he flicked a finger at the hammer strapped to Thor's hip.

Thor smiled then, and Loki turned away from it. Too much there, in that smile.

They were changed men. War had seen to that.

Sensing the mood shift in his brother, Thor changed the subject. Thor was clever sometimes, Loki thought. Just some.

"How much farther until we see this lake they spoke of?"

Loki shrugged. "They said it was painted silver. I have never seen a silver lake, as I doubt you have either." Thor shook his head no, despite Loki already knowing the answer. "They cast Olaf about as a fool, yet he seems readily able to believe in the abstract."

Before they had departed, the man, Olaf had come up to them, no more than a man just out of boyhood. He'd told them what they needed to know of the lake they sought.

"I wonder about the looks on their faces when they realize who they've been calling _boys_." His laugh boomed like the thunder, and Loki could not resist giving his own contribution.

"I will relish my stay as a mortal." He stretched his fingers out before him, because he knew Thor was watching his movements. "It is so rare in Asgard to have anyone look upon my hands and expect something other than mischief."

Thor lifted a brow. "Oh? You will celebrate by causing more?"

"Of course."

"Do not be too malicious, brother."

"What, do you think I intend to set them aflame?" He gave a short laugh, noting the smile Thor wore himself. Once upon a time, when they were children, they would find shared joy in Loki's mischief. "Thor you are quite dense when you desire to be."

Thor bit his lip and turned the path of his eyes back to the length of forested path stretched out before them.

Fire flashed as a memory and Loki felt a twinge of pleasure at it, and some guilt for ruining the mood so quickly. Though it was just as quickly snuffed by another onslaught.

_Two Realms, two wars. You desire blood of all people. You would see your father dead and gone and your mother weeping over the shorn sky, clouds torn. You would see your fire spread to this world and the next._

His heart stuttered, as if a hammer had met his ribs. Thor was saying something in reply, but the answer Loki had came out as a choked gasp.

"Loki?" Thor had stopped walking, all movement ceased as if he was farther away, stretching, leaving—

 _And yet, you bring your brother to the heart of it. Why, I do wonder_.

"Loki?" Thor repeated, stepping closer. The ground jolted underneath him and Loki gave a shallow breath, spit flying from his lips.

_Shall I take your brother's heart you've yet to truly maim?_

Somewhere, outside the raging chaos in his head, Loki felt a hand grip his shoulder, strong and searing where it touched. Thor. Thor.

_A broken thing, Loki. That is what you are. That is what you will be._

He was only just aware enough to realize he'd collapsed to the ground, and that Thor was there. Lips were being pressed to his forehead, whispering things he could not fathom. Loki was pushing at the chest in front of him, viciously tearing at the soft leather that spanned Thor's chest, pushing him back, away—

"Loki, brother. My brother, _please_." And there was pleading there in his voice, and Loki, though awash in the cruelty of visions and memories and all manner of twisted shameful thing, he knew Thor was trying to bring him back. To ground him. It made the mild sting in his eyes burn.

"Go, Thor, go." The bones that linked beneath the skin of his fingers, his palms, his arms, pushed at Thor until he was tired and heaving and yelling the word. Saliva dried cold on his chin and he felt his stomach churning.

_Go, Loki, lest Thor face greater shadows than those you have cast upon the world._

"Loki!" Thor shouted at him, panicked fury mirrored in the break of the sky. Rain began to pour, shards of liquid glass reflected in the threading light above.

There was the willowy gasp of Mimir's laughter weaving its way through the meat of his brain and Loki could do nothing but close his eyes against it. The giant would not leave. He wondered, if Thiazi had not burned by his hand would he be tormented so? Would he be stuck in the mud, grasped at the shoulders by a shouting, panicked Thor, banished to the world of Midgard to solve a war he'd promised he'd handle? Only because if he hadn't, his ribs would be gripped bloody in the palm of a weeping Thor?

Odin's pitiless smile was a clear thing then, and Loki remembered that once, they had been young together.

His mind was a chaotic whirl of every possible thing, every single moment he'd ever lived and ever would, seen over by the face of an uncaring severed head somewhere in the confines of one of Odin's prized halls or amongst a hidden vault. Too much he felt to move away from the hand being pressed to the bend of his neck, encouraging him closer where he would be away from it all, from _him_. Thor was a caring brute in front of him, immoveable and concerned. Loki was too exhausted to do anything at all.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, the words slipping away from him like water. He watched them float down the creek that had formed between them like that beast of an animal Thor had gone and retrieved just days before. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And then he tipped and felt the burn of bile and half digested food climb back up out of his throat.

Thor was a strong presence through it, and Loki felt his head be raised. Thor's eyes were a trap then, piercing and relieving all at once. Loki slipped heavy lids closed, felt the hand about his neck press just that much tighter, a supportive weight rather than a threat.

"I'm here, Loki. Brother, I'm here. I'm with you."

Different, colder words came to mind. Uttered on a distant stare and a forlorn tongue better suited upon the ground, ripped from its perch and bloodied.

_Asgard will not be behind you. They will be behind Thor. He won't be with you._

"I'm with you, Loki. Come back." Thor's arms were about him but he could hardly comprehend the action enough to care any one way. He sagged, exhausted beyond words.

For I am a broken thing, his mind whispered back to him, a shudder beneath the beat of his heart.

 

 

OOO

The well was large, with the soft green hue of new roots, beginning very small as they climbed out of the swirling waters, growing larger and innumerable as there were stars in the sky. The water itself was a discomfiting thing. A black disc of opalescent water, showing the ways of the ether and shadow and the light of each sun in every galaxy. There was a fog rolling about the roots here, the bark twisting up and away into the empty, darkened sky. The branches and trunk still shone as if made of glass shards, and to look upon them too long was to fool the eye. It was a strange, aching thing. He felt the flutter of music swell inside his breast and smiled, hoping the urge to melody would not dissolve by the time he was done here.

Balder stood apart, still perched upon the steed who'd dutifully delivered him here. He was calm now, and Balder was thankful, so thankful for that. He did not know what he'd do to save face had his own mount bucked, shaming him before the weavers of each Fate.

His curiosity lingered on the well of Urd. It was a stone monolith, gleaming silver and gold and muddied in equal parts as it shifted and ebbed, pulled by an unknowable tide.

A cold hush of air washed across his neck, and the voice of a young woman filled his ears.

"You are far from your palace, Balder, son of Odin, son of Bestla and Borr, son of Buri, children all of Ymir." Before him formed the shifting silvery shade of a woman, young and beautiful. Her eyes were hooded, though Balder knew she stared, watching each movement and listening to each sound.

He was about to answer when there was a surge of warmth and then another voice joined, younger still, pitched in the likeness of a child's.

"You are lost?" That was the child.

"No. Will you be?" The young woman, looming.

The child did not come into view, but the shade had transformed into the solid form of a robed Seer, but menacing in a way that made his skin prickle beneath the light armor he wore.

"You've come to gather tunes." She settled her chin upon a fist and crossed her legs where she perched on a large root, on the other side of the well.

"I've…" he began, then stopped when his voice cracked. The woman did not break face, resolute and staring out from under that hood as ever. "I've come to know my way."

"There is more than that. That which I cannot help you with. You did not come here for your future."

"I have!" he shot back, then quickly shut his mouth.

The woman did not smile, or frown, or…anything. "You did not come here to know your fate. Not yet."

"Then what did I come here for, then?" he asked, throwing his arms out. This was quickly proving to be more trouble than it had been worth. He was lucky to not have to be dealing with Mimir again, for he'd be forced to serve a greater debt than just lost time. Frigga had paid the first debt with a debt owed to her, and those were especially difficult to come by.

Balder thought of his father's lost eye and shivered.

"That is the correct start."

Balder watched as she straightened, rising languidly to her feet as if on a fog. She went to the fated well and bent over it, churning the water with a slow finger.

"They say we are of three, yet you need only know the one. For now." Her finger dipped to the flush of her fist, and she stilled, peering in. The light reflected the mirror shine of her eyes. Like stars. "You are curious of your brothers and their claim to the throne. You seek the place you were born to but never allowed. That is tragic."

His jaw twitched. "I am angry. I would know _why_."

Those stars met his eyes and pinned him to the root of the world. "You know, Balder Friggason, brother to many."

Tongue held between teeth forced him to steady his mind. He would not act out his frustration here.

A whisper in the air spoke, "Maybe you are ready."

The light of the pool shifted and he thought he saw wrinkles and the face of a withered hag peer at him from over the rim of the well. But then the fog was enveloping all and he could not be sure what he saw.

"You will die."

The words hit him like a wave, rolling over his head, leaving him barely aware of the feeling of the truth of that statement. How could that possibly be...The night terrors came back to him then. A fear more present and daunting than when he woke up in Nanna's arms, shaking. "What?" he breathed. This did not seem right to him, he had so much—

"You will die, by hands your own. He who seeks claim upon throne will see his kin to toil and ruin."

"I thought, you can't—" And when the fog rolled back to the darkest corners Balder saw the young woman transformed. The voice had changed too, pitched lower with a husky keen to it. Fate was a slithering thing.

"You will end all. Your death with bring about the demise of everyone and everything. The Fall."

The hag, the _Norn_ spoke so bluntly, so emotionlessly that Balder felt his stomach rip apart. Suddenly he was on the ground, greeting meals he'd had hours before.

The hag went on, oblivious to his turmoil. "Worlds will burn for you. Bileygr will take up spear and become Biflindi, Draugadróttin. He who is Fimbultýr will take off the face of Gangleri to mount the mighty weight of one of many of his true names. Bági ulfs will meet his brother and his sons will perish about him."

Balder felt weak in the knees, but he kept rigid, standing the only way he knew how; simply because he had to. The cautious flutter of song was trembling now, next to his heart, and oh it felt so weak. So dangerous. More precious a rhythm than he had ever felt.

The hag dipped her arm to the elbow in the shimmering gleam, and the wind blew about them. "Dearest Hovi, who once we spread the name of before he could bear the burden of sons, he who is Hjaldrgegnir will reveal the face of Valföðr the Valtýr."

"Please, why all this? Why so much? Why such darkness when I thought only to help my homeland?" He was weeping, and _oh it ached_.

"Yggr will rage, and his brother, the father of all wolves will greet him, riding upon a pyre already burning, only to deliver thunder and woe to all Asgard and every Realm beyond."

"Please," he begged. Balder didn't understand. Not any of it.

"The jaws of the world will snap out the thunder and it will begin with your grief."

Balder was shaking now, having fallen to his knees, when a hand lighted upon his shoulder. The face of a young girl, silver hair falling across her small shoulders, slid into his view.

Her voice was soft and kind and terrible in that moment. "Please get up, please stand. You have much to think about." She reached one hand out to the star-riddled sky, her small child's fingers wiggling at the Realms. Bright pricks of light trailed like liquid down her cheeks, spotting his hands gripping into the undergrowth. "You have many stars yet to see. Many to revisit."

The last Balder was aware of before his mind gave way to the dark, was the child's voice, inside his head.

"Rest, beautiful god. You have so earned it."

 

OOO

Thor knew Loki had lost himself somewhere along the way in Jotunheim. Some piece of him, gone from the world like a snuffed candle. Dark with a lingering singe, a bright mark always on the edge of giving out, or giving way to new light. New flame. A twice edged knife.

Thor had never put voice to his thoughts, his suspicions that Loki, ever since that day in Thiazi's stronghold, had been changed. Unhinged in some intrinsic way that Thor could not see. He wanted to see. He truly did.

He was still angry, though it was a slow burn now compared to before. Being sent to Midgard instead of sentenced to death was a respite. He would challenge any who said otherwise. And for all that Loki bickered and pitched waning threats at the situation; he knew that Loki knew just as well as he that they had escaped with the best outcome.

They would see their family again. Both of them.

Thor had to believe that.

Loki had not spoken to him…since. Neither had Loki even glanced over to him. His steps were stilted, slow, and Thor allowed him this. A small reprieve for a task they knew would be a short one, the journey shorter. In a line of many days to come, this was but one minor thing.

Aside from that, he had Mjolnir singing in his grip once more, and he was happy enough for that. Thor knew nothing of when next he may grip her haft, and in the situation they currently found themselves, he'd use every chance to the fullest.

But even the return of Mjolnir could not fully distract him away from Loki. From earlier.

Loki was probably angry with him on some level, for reaching out and trying to shake him back to reality. His jaw had hung open as if pried, his pupils blown so wide the green had vanished. Thor had feared for whatever Loki was seeing, for visions were no light thing. He wondered if they'd even been that. Speculation, that's all he had.

Loki had torn out of his arms as soon as he'd been able, shuffling back on shaking limbs and trembling fingers. Loki had covered his face with one hand and risen, and that was when the silence had begun. Thor tried calling out to him several times but each was met with a stubborn silence he recognized too well in his brother. Maybe a part of that anger directed at him was because Loki had caught himself crying in front of him. Thor didn't know.

The weeping had been hollow and the yelling had rocketed about his chest as the wordless curses spilled from Loki's lips and Thor had never been so afraid for Loki in his life. What else could he have done, but to embrace his brother and hope it helped, in some small way?

He focused on Loki beside him, arms tense at his sides. Loki looked beyond any mortal form of tired; dark, sunken eyes and a firm frown that made the skin around his mouth dimple and pull down. The bruises just under his collar were bright against his skin. He looked _old_ , and that worried Thor more than anything. He had not seen Loki sleep since before Jotunheim…had he truly not slept since before that?

New worries began to settle in his heart, layering thick over the scab of betrayal and anger and loathing he'd come to call a brother closer than his own kin. The war had changed them both. But now he saw the brother from their youth, the brother Odin had bestowed upon him. His little brother, Loki.

It had been a long time since he felt such an overbearing need to _know_ , but he would not ask. He had learned that much on Jotunheim. To ask was to burn sometimes and he had no wish of that. Not yet. So Thor would wait, and be content enough with the fact Loki was stuck here with him on Midgard just as much as he was. They only had each other.

_We have only ever had each other to rely on and that makes us headstrong in the company of others._

Thor turned away enough to hide the small smile that pulled at his lips, hesitant and fleeting. Loki was still Loki, somewhere inside.

"We are here," came the dull, dead tone of Loki's usually amused cadence beside him. Thor's smile was tugged away but he would worry about it later.

Before them, some twenty yards or so, was birthed a wide clearing. The trees and plants were vibrant, too bright against his eyes, and the lake shone as if laid in silver.

Loki withdrew the hand and a half sword, poised lazily at his side. A threat to soon be invoked.

They had a scale to retrieve.

 

OOO

Thor walked ahead, intending to reach out and touch the water. Stir it some to draw the creature they sought to the surface to make this simpler. But Loki reached out and snatched his wrist, yanking on him. Thor turned, halting his progress and looked back to where Loki stood. Loki's eyes spoke in place of tongue.

"Loki, we need to gather the creature's attention."

"Do you want to drown?" The question was sudden and Thor pursed his lips to it. Loki released his wrist. "We are dealing with a Havman, Thor. They are known to sing cleverer words than I ever could."

A snort left him. "Like any in the world possess a greater tongue of silver than you." But Loki was not one for humor at the moment and Thor sobered. "Then what do we do?"

Loki rolled his shoulders and started past Thor. He seemed to have regained a part of himself, and Thor was thankful. He was at wit's end with his brother's silence.

They walked to the edge of the shining lake, the water glinting metallic in what light there was. Thor still had the clouds mingling, and the sun was hidden. The rain had been a moment of terror, and so when Loki pulled away and they'd begun walking here, he'd calmed the sky enough to allow the torrent to relent.

But Thor could not help but be surprised when he said, "Bring the rain. It will disrupt the surface enough to—"

Thor curled one lip, raised his arm and brought down a shocking bolt of light to the middle of the lake, sending water splashing around them. Loki had barely escaped being drenched.

"Or that." Loki blew out heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling, and Thor could only grin.

Silence. No movement. The lake had stilled in the time it took Thor to raise the will to speak. "What next—"

Loki's hand met his chest and Thor followed widened green eyes to the far end of the lake. A woman's head had emerged enough to show the slick strands of silvery-blonde hair, and angry violet eyes. Her skin was pale blue and Thor thought of Jotunheim.

"A Havfrue," Loki breathed. He sounded to be in awe, though Thor doubted it. Surely if Loki had already known about the things, then he had seen them before in his journeys.

"What is it?" Thor muttered, worry creeping in. He gripped Mjolnir tighter.

"This just became very dangerous." The hand at his chest pushed and Thor stepped back once, twice. Loki remained where he was, eyes never leaving the lake.

"She seems furious."

"Well you did strike down her home, fool." The word held no insult. Loki seemed entranced. Then, those viperous eyes snapped to his and Thor could not look away. Loki seemed disturbed in a way and it pulled at the edges of fear. But he was not afraid.

"She is but a fish woman, Loki." He pointed with Mjolnir at where she still sat, half glaring out of the water. "Let me—"

Loki turned to face him completely, invading his space and staring him down with every measure of fury he could muster. Frustration made his fingers throb where he loosened and then tightened his hold on Mjolnir.

"If you truly have a wish to die on this Realm then venture on, blind and alone to meet your fate. As soon as she opens that mouth you will want to slip into that water and never leave. She will drown you, and you will be a fool because you had want of some fish cunny."

The only thing that kept his anger at bay was the fact Loki was so immensely _serious_. There had been a handful of times when he'd witnessed Loki so. It gave him pause.

Thor nodded and Loki reached into the folds of his many layers. He withdrew one of the vials Thor had seen him pack earlier. Loki uncorked it and poured out two drops of muddy liquid that transformed in his palm to tiny solid dots. He stoppered the vial and tucked it away, holding out his hand for Thor to take the things.

"Put them in your ears. I will mimic her song back to her and I do not want you to hear."

Thor realized the dots had become a gum-like substance. They filled his ears where he pressed them in like buds, but he could still hear Loki speaking. "They do not work."

"They will against what I intend to do. Just do not get them wet. My magic only goes so far."

"I do not see why I cannot strike her down where she waits, watching. What do you intend?"

Loki smirked. "You will distract her."

Thor shifted his gaze to where she sat motionless in the water. Violet eyes stared back at him, unblinking. She rose and he could see the sharp gleam of her teeth. Her eyes were slanted and she had a silver line on her jaw that curled once more beneath the water, assuming it continued on her neck.

"I will beach her."

"Aye," And Loki smiled, relieved he did not have to explain everything in detail. "And then I will sever her tail."

Golden brows rose but Loki was already ushering him forward, no longer of the patient set of mind. They both wanted this to be done.

As Thor approached, the creature emerged enough so that her long neck was above the water, and the roundel of her shoulders gleaming.

Somewhere behind him he heard a sharp hiss.

"Do not get wet!"

Thor scowled at Loki, then met the eyes of the siren across the lake, who turned her head just enough to reveal scales, reflected in the light. Her lips pursed in an attractive pout.

A bolt of unease wove its way through him, mixed with something else entirely.

 

OOO

As Thor approached the lake, the shining creature waded closer, curious. Scales made up the sides of her neck and face, trailing down around the curve of her shoulders, reflecting the light in small discs. The silver line turned out to be a thin scar. From what, Thor wasn't sure.

Behind him, somewhere amongst the rich plant life, there was rustling, and Thor knew Loki was carrying out his scheme. He had to trust Loki. Not an easy thing as of late.

Crouching a foot from the edge, she swam nearer, nearly within arm's reach. Thor's fingers twitched nervously, and a flutter acquainted itself with his stomach. Something rare for him.

"You did that," came her voice, thin and high and sharp like shorn rock. "You called thunder."

It was not quite a question, something that gave him pause enough to remember this creature, no matter how fair of face, was something unfamiliar to him. Something dangerous.

She slunk nearer still, rising out of the water to rest her elbows on the shore's edge. She pinched a leaf between slender blue fingers. The flesh of her chest was decorated in something akin to scars, but they shone like the scales. Thor didn't know what they were. Her breasts were small, almost flat, the nipples smaller. Thor focused as well as he could on her face, the ethereal hue of her eyes.

More rustling behind him and then silence.

"Aye," he said, licking at the corner of his mouth. "I did."

The leaf was placed at her lips and she breathed it in, then blew it away from her.

"I have heard tell of gods. So rarely do they walk among these lands, rarer still our seas. The wood of your ancient hulls have not slid through our waves for many millennia."

Thor had never encountered these creatures in his long life, and it seemed strange that they should have such long lives and he not be aware of them.

"You know much of us. Tell me then, fair sea maiden, what Realm be I from?"

The violet of her eyes slid back in her skull as she blinked once, then snapped her eyes about the clearing, searching. "You and the other one, dark of hair and light of skin? You, you I know. I have seen carvings of your beauty. But him. He is different. He feels different." Her attention refocused. "You are Thor, of Asgard. Savior of this place."

A slender, wet hand found its way to his thigh, and he almost flinched. "You are a delicate creature, and speak words even softer. You are right, I will give you that."

"Why have you come here, to my humble cove?" The hand coaxed him to kneeling, and slid higher towards his groin. He knew her goal, but was painfully torn between her touch and the anxiousness of Loki doing who knew what in the silence around them. He wondered if she was singing her siren song to lure him into the calm silver lake, and wondered how much worse it could be.

Thor spoke on the edge of a smile. "To see beauty. I have heard the mortal's tales of your kind as well."

She laughed, and it sounded like a sheet of rain falling across dry land. "Then we are both well spoken by other tongues. Have you ever enjoyed our kind, Thunder Lord?" One finger traced a circle atop his skin, and something in her gaze darkened. "Do you know the pleasures of the tumbling waves?

He cursed Loki's delay even as he kept up the façade for her, placing a hand atop her own. As much to still her hand as to fake content. "I would if I could learn what they call you."

She smiled, biting the corner of her bottom lip, rising until she was waist-high out of the water. She pressed flush against him, and somewhere in the surrounding forest he heard movement.

Her breath smelt of fish and he fought not to tense too much against it. "In your tongue it would be Sihl. In mine it would sound beautiful, but the ears of landwalkers cannot understand such transcendent syllables."

Thor knew that time was waning, and Loki would act soon enough with how very close she was to him. He placed both hands at her sides, smoothing down flesh and scaley hide both.

Her hands framed his face. His grip on her waist tightened.

She whispered, "Let me show you the waves."

Thor grabbed hard enough to bruise, pressed her tightly against him and allowed it when she pressed her lips to his. There was a crash somewhere behind him just as he began lifting her from the water. Sharp nails dug into the skin of his face, scratching and tearing the skin and pulling the silencers from his ears.

Then, through the sudden chaos about him, all was turned to music. Sihl was a snarling, beautiful, flailing thing. She lay twisting upon land as Loki descended upon her, all lithe muscle and wiry strength and absolute fury as he fought to pin her. Thor knew he watched his brother before him, fighting the fair creature but knew also he was hurting her. Knew he wanted to know the waves and the touch and the sea—

And then Thor was charging straight for Loki, to keep Sihl from the sword that gleamed in his brother's hands.

 

OOO

Loki was chanting, low and stilted between heaving breaths and curses as he battled the Havfrue. Too close. She had been too close.

Loki knew her song was being sung as soon as he felt his limbs lose sense, and so he'd begun his own. The runes let him sing his own and he hoped it would be enough to distract his ears from what bestial, inborn magic the creature was weaving. He'd given the only buds he'd had to Thor.

And the sword. He had her tail pinned between the twist of his legs, and he'd been so glad in that moment she was a small thing. Dangerous but manageable. The sword he gripped was ready to snatch its prize when the breath was knocked from him. Thor barreled him to the ground, tackling him so forcefully the blade dragged through _something_ on their fall. There was a scream and a splash and then the only music being sung was Loki's imitation.

Thor was angry above him and the blade was poised dangerously between them. Loki flung it to the side so as not to accidentally stab Thor. Loki realized as he was now forced to battle Thor that she had somehow managed to knock away the ear buds.

It took only a moment to realize his error before Thor went from punching and choking him to licking his lips and snapping clothed hips against his leg.

The runes. Loki's plan had turned on him and now he lay cursed by his own tongue as Thor went from killing him to _wanting_ him. Loki had taken over the role of siren and Thor had not the protection he needed against it. Land or sea, the magic bartered the same result.

"Mindless animal," Loki huffed out, hands squeezing at Thor's arms to still him, to push him back, anything. His lungs grew too large for his chest as he tried again and again to breathe in huge gusts of air to brace himself and push Thor off him. To summon the words he knew would stop this.

But nothing worked and he was pinned. Thor was an animal, hands moving over him, tongue laving at his throat and wetting the collar of his tunic. It was torn down and Loki heard the vague sound of tearing fabric as Thor sucked at the bruises he knew were still there. Loki heard the scrape of metal and the tug of one of the belts about his waist and tried for just one moment to focus not on Thor scratching at him. At his clothes.

But Thor was a bulk he could not dissuade and so Loki allowed himself to indulge for a moment. How many years had he watched the hands that now grabbed and groped at him, watched the stretch of Thor's smile, the sweep of his hair? How many times had he seen those eyes crinkle in joy and narrow in practiced electric rage? How many? How many.

The banshee scream of the siren still rung through his head as Thor held him about the waist, the pressure nearly grinding skin from bone. Loki wondered then how well he bruised, from the way Thor tried to envelop him whole in the palm of his hands.

But it was just that, mindless tugging and grabbing and touching. Thor knew not who he held beneath him and battered so well with mark of teeth and tongue and the smell of earth and sweat and mire. He didn't know it was Loki whom he licked and bit and slid wandering hands over. Who inspired the thunder booming so deafeningly above them.

Thor's hand found its way between them, down past the hold of his belt, the hem of his tunic. Fingers wandered, sought, found and _squeezed_. A sound forced its way from Loki's throat and then there was a breath shuffled quickly past busy lips and Loki went still.

" _Loki_."

Not so mindless then, thought Loki—throwing his head back as Thor sucked along his neck—and trying again to push Thor off him. But Thor persisted, pressing close and nuzzling his neck, tongue hot and wet and the whole of him an impressive weight too overwhelming to resist by physical exertion alone. Loki gripped the hair at the base of Thor's skull— and though his brother growled his name once more and he felt a jolt of heat spear through his belly at the sound—Loki brought the sway of magic to his fingers and tongue and spoke the words that would rid Thor of his delusion.

The moments slid past slowly, and Loki kept a tight hold of Thor's hair to keep him away from the expanse of his neck, safely away from that maddening tongue. Loki swallowed and waited, hoping it had worked, and at the same time worrying it had.

Thor blinked back to himself, awareness seeping back into the blue of his eyes. He blinked once, twice, and almost hesitantly, the hand groping Loki through his breeks dragged off and braced against the ground by his waist.

Thor would not look at him as his other hand left the curve of his waist and he rolled swiftly over and away from Loki. Apart from him. He sat up and stared at the ground, eyebrows drawn together and expression pinched, almost pained. His hands hung limp in his lap, one leg slightly raised in almost a shield.

Loki brought himself to sitting, glancing at where they had tumbled. He knew the blade had severed something, and since he had felt no pain, and saw no injury on Thor…Some distance away sat a scaled hunk of flesh, glinting in the sunlight like bright slivers of metal and coral. Turning back to Thor, he saw the trickle of blood drip down Thor's cheeks, where the Havfrue had scratched eager nails across.

"Thor." And Thor flinched, barely. Loki swallowed thickly. "Thor, we have them. The scales." His neck was on fire.

Thor made no move to answer. His head angled further away and his chest heaved once, a burdened breath escaping him.

"Thor?" Loki repeated, the question hovering between them, heady and wondering. Loki's heart pounded.

And Thor did not answer.

 

OOO

Thor's silences had always been mysterious things.

They were haunting as they left you wondering after them. The man could talk for hours about the details of a fight and yet not spare a word for the length of a league because he'd been scorned by some other. Usually it was Loki that invoked these silences, though it was rare and had not happened for some years…And almost never this seriously. The most recent he could recall had been during their last days on Jotunheim. After Loki had burned Thiazi.

It had been a trying time. And the absence of Thor's normally boisterous mood had left him to the swirling gloom of possibilities regarding Laufey. A Jotun he should have seen stuck from head to anus on a studded pike long ago. Long before all this.

Then, Loki had not fretted as he did now. Usually he was accomplished in rendering his brother's tongue so unmoving. But now, it was a silence stretched thin and unkempt. Unnatural.

He had never experienced this silence from his brother, because the others had been one sided. Either in Thor's fury or his hidden, bitter joy.

This was shared. They would not look at each other directly, though Loki snuck glances often enough as he felt Thor's gaze upon him. It was disconcerting, uncomfortable.

It was a silence Loki did not enjoy, and how rare that was.

Worse yet, he was left with even darker thoughts to occupy their walk back to camp.

Loki was left with ideas and the stark memory of what it felt like to be crushed under a warm, immovable weight other than the heavy, painful burden of Mjolnir.

He caught Thor's eyes just as they darted away.

Or, he wondered, watching as the muscles in Thor's jaw worked, perhaps it was the same.


	7. The Scent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven months without an update, for which I endlessly apologize for. Life has been hectic. Those of you still following the story, thank you for your patience! Updates will hopefully be quicker from now on.

Frigga stepped lightly as she entered the hall of her husband. Odin sat as ever a tired man, back straight, shoulders stiff, gaze far reaching and searching. The frown upon his lips told her he was surveying unpleasant things, things only a King would know to look upon. Things Odin willingly sought and then stored in the back of his mind, saved for centuries down a path he would decide to venture or cut. Her husband was ever the severance of ties, and the binding of them.

He did not stir when she pressed a palm to his shoulder. He blinked his one goo eye and scanned the horizon once more, lingering on the fading sunlight burning bright in the distance. The crest of the hills lying just beyond Asgard’s walls burnt orange in the light, and even from this point, a vestibule upon sight itself, one could see the signs of approaching winter.

Odin sighed finally, and turned to regard to his wife.

“Balder knows.”

“Aye,” Odin murmured.

One can easily forget the heavy burden of visions. A burden Frigga knows only too well, but must never speak of. Odin’s are visions of all time, and sometimes she may catch him drifting, gaze unfocusing at dinner. Or when they lay together in the dark of the night, hands held loosely between them. Frigga watched her husband often and so saw the signs of weariness, and knew days before Odin did when a sleep was approaching. Soon, she thought, even now.

“How are our other boys?” she asked then, coming to sit upon the arm of Hlidskjalf and moved to rest her hand just at the edge of his hair. She brushed caring fingers through it, and felt some tension leave his bones.

“Thor is angry with himself. Loki is...ever as Loki is. He shields himself from me more often than not.”

Frigga hummed, wondering.

“I do not know why.”

Frigga stilled so that only her thumb moved back and forth upon his neck. She hummed again.

“It will come, in time. They are safe and doing what they must with what they have.” It seemed surreal to be echoing his own words from only so long ago, to receive a wistful turn of mouth in reply.

“I am not so sure.”

“What is the fate you see set before them?”

Odin closed his one eye, balanced Gungnir so that it stood alone before him. An everlasting symbol of gold and runework, solid and unbreakable. In his lap, Odin clasped ancient, battle-worn, tired hands. Palm sliding over palm.

“I see only those who would commune with gods.”

OOO 

Thor was a menacing thing when silent, this was also a truth Loki had come to learn. The mystery waned with the hours and was eventually drowned by how fidgety and turbulent Thor could be during them.

The sky warned dark and grey and flashing above them. Clouds swirled and rain was only barely being held at bay. Loki trailed behind Thor while they journeyed back, watching him. It had been hours since the incident by the silver lake and still Thor had barely glanced at him. He seemed content enough to ignore Loki’s presence forever.

For the weather to be warring so, Thor’s mind must have been wrought with thoughts of the lake. Waking to find his hand squeezing his brother’s cock and his lips at the very edge of Loki’s mouth. No matter how much Loki’s breath had caught and his back surged upwards, wanting, Loki knew it was wrong. Some sick, dangerous thing that had knocked loose inside him eons ago. Something for the whispers in the dark of night, wrapped in his own silks and furs, for his ears to hear, only.

And oh, what twisted irony it was for Thor to be the first to lay mouth to skin.

By the time Thor’s fingers twitched and he reached to scratch at a spot on his face, the sky thundered, deafening.

They stopped for the night, only because Thor chose twilight to sit at the base of a seemingly random tree and sit. He still wouldn’t look at Loki, but the hours had made Loki’s tongue grow brave once more.

“We did not pack for camping.” He did not choose to mention how it had not taken them as long to reach the lake.

“Then we will sleep on the ground,” Thor barked. He glowered at a patch of weeds and stood suddenly. “Prepare a fire.”

Loki raised a brow but said nothing as he watched his brother turn and shrug his way back through the forest, hammer swinging heavily at his hip.

The farther Thor was, the clearer the sky.

OOO

Thor returned with a string of several hare. Thor’s cuffs were brushed with dirt and he smelled of rain and storm. Even at the distance they were parted Loki could almost feel the tingle of current rake over his skin, making him shiver.

Walking monolith of nature, Loki thought as he poked at the fire.

They did not greet each other, even as they met eyes for the briefest of moments. Loki’s heart thumped hard and it hurt. Above, the storm had only slightly abated. Death and violence worked as a cure for many a thing, a foul mood one of them.

Thor wasted no time in sitting crosslegged on the ground opposite the fire Loki managed to create. It crackled and spit bits of flame and leaf into the darkening sky.

The light it cast illuminated Thor’s work with the knife he gripped. Making the proper cuts, he skinned the hares with a practiced ease Loki had not witnessed for years. The knife parted fur from flesh smoothly with tough jerks of his wrist, and soon he had the six of them lying with strings readied about their legs. He went to work on branches next, gathering enough for the spit and tying them as many as they could fit to cook in a single sitting.

Loki’s steady gaze was caught as Thor snapped his eyes to his, by chance. Thor held his stare for a long moment, longer than any they’d shared all day, and then went back to his work.

“You’ve made a proper fire.”

Loki nodded, staring now into the flames. He knew Thor was only trying for conversation, but at least it was better than his maddening silence.

“Aye,” Loki muttered. He poked at it with a twig, watching a curl of flame char the end and crumble away. Would if only the tension followed suit.

Loki glanced back up to see Thor staring at his neck. He had not checked, but he knew there would surely be new bruises forming where the old ones had been fading. Loki felt the urge to fiddle with his collar, hide them away from his brother’s prying sight. But then a flash of the memory of Thor’s lips and teeth sucking claim into his skin caught as if on a peg at the forefront of his mind, and he restrained the urge.

Let Thor see his work.

Loki bent over, nearing the fire enough to properly stoke it. “If you’re done, let me put them up to cook. I do not fancy staying up all night waiting on a meal.”

Thor shifted his sight once more to the ground, and handed over the first hare.

OOO 

“I did not like rabbit when I first tried it. As a boy."

Loki looked up from his grease-slick fingers at Thor’s words. He sucked a finger clean and wiped the rest on his pant leg. Thor was staring down at the leg of hare he’d nearly burned to a crisp, lost somewhere in the depth of some nameless childhood memory.

The sudden desire for conversation came as something Loki suspected to be avoidance, but he would humor Thor. No matter the error, Thor would persist in eradicating the tension, it seemed. Thor, however disturbed, was still ever himself.

“You once blanched at killing as well.”

Thor smiled, quick though fond. “Aye. I was very young.”

“Yes, it was before the stupidity set in. That matured as your balls finally dropped.”

“Crass,” Thor muttered into his next bite of food. Loki expected a laugh to follow, for Thor laughed the loudest at simple things. But still, he was so hesitant.

Loki wished to pry the very darkness of Thor’s thoughts from him and lay them bare to see and pick apart as he wanted. The freedom to see into Thor’s mind and know his will. A small part of him wished only to continue as they were.

“And you’re not?” Loki countered.

Thor raised a brow and smiled around his next bite of food. A laugh bubbled its way up and out of Loki and Thor caught it in a chuckle of his own. Thor forgot the reason he had to be so consumed by gloom and tossed a bone at Loki over the flames. Loki sprayed a stream of ale from a skin in answer.

And so were two brothers laughing together over a fire.

OOO 

Loki woke in the dark that night to a pull of deep, ancient, _need_. Ritual demanding blood and flesh and fur and a scattering of bones upon wool. It tugged as a dark and heady thing, deep within his very bones and he felt for all of a moment he would tip on his side and wretch. But he held fast, keeping his eyes to the sky, breathing fast through his gaping mouth.

Thor stirred where he slumbered still beside him some feet away. Their feeble attempt at bedding resulted in the bundles of their cloaks and a fur Loki had sealed away. Though the night air was cool, he felt sweat drip hot down his neck, searing in its wake.

His mind whispered his brother’s name, though he knew not what brought it on. Some childlike need for Thor to be up and aware and _there_. But no. No.

Runes. Someone of dark and powerful seidr was working them, and expertly so.

And it was Loki and Thor, slumbering and dumb to it all, that they sought.

Glancing to Thor’s sleeping form, Loki landed his sight upon Mjolnir. Mjolnir was humming, pulsating with the unwanted summons.

Loki withdrew the small pouch without thinking, spilling them out onto the sparsely grassy patch of earth before him, and flicked his fingers over them. Some tumbled, others tipped, and some rolled far from where he sat. Some nestled and angled in a way that caught the dying embers of the still simmering fire and reflected up at him like beacons of awe sought and wrenched from the heavens.

Without touching them, Loki mumbled a blinding charm and did not sleep that night. The fevered whispering of a curious god could be heard nor witnessed by none as those whispers held the protection they needed to last their journey.

Loki did not know who was trying to find them, but they were not Asgardian.

And as surely as the stars do glimmer, it was most certainly not Odin.

OOO 

The fever dream still grasped at him throughout the day. As if his heart beat had sunken the muscle to cling to spine, to ground, refusing to leave. Stuck lingering in that shadow of a clearing, dusty and sparse and lurking, wended shut and sealed to the fibers of the earth.

To chase the feeling of dread away would be a victory in itself. He was tired of waking in such nightmarish spirits. It was like being chased by the dead and dying. And Loki knew it was due to the state of the muddy and ruined world they now inhabited. The pitiful, inconsequential war to be waged by souls that would die in a handful of empty decades.

And someone was searching for them.

To distract the thought, Loki cleared his throat.

“Should we pay our dear Christians a visit?”

Mjolnir spun once where it hung in Thor’s grip. He twirled it as easily as one would a quill over parchment. Action to match thought. Thor, at least, was considering the idea.

“Roan has but to question the sea-flesh we acquired,” Loki continued, watching the way Thor’s jaw worked. “We could have cut it from some pretty whale for all he knows. Best to appeal to both given tasks and return laden with prize and blood.”

“You tempt me most crudely,” Thor said, voice black with the thought of raiding.

“Do I?” Loki blurted, laughing before he could stop himself. It earned him a sharp glare and crackle of electricity but he did not mind. Thor had nearly agreed to his idea, Loki had but to nudge him the rest of the way. “Is it crude to appeal to the battle lust of my brother? Then indeed, you have grown much in our short time here, Odinson.”

“Odin’s _son_.” Thor clicked his tongue, a noise a disgust leaving him. He looked away and rolled his shoulders. Then, “Let us go then, Loki. If you wish to tempt my _lust_ we best be off before sunset.”

Thor glowered and stomped ahead. Loki, stunned, heard thunder boom a far-reaching warning across the realm.

OOO

It was another day of walking to reach the Christian warriors. Had Thor not caught sight of a banner waving high in the distance, he would not have had cause to stop at all. Loki hid them from sight for a short while, watching soldiers dressed in heady mail and robes of starched white and frayed red and blue. They trudged through the high growth of the forest around them, gloved hands on the hilt of their respective swords belted at their hips. They looked to be returning from a recent venture to a village, for they dragged along a cart filled with cheeses and wrapped meats and dried bundles of wheat and other crops.

Loki took the moment to sidle between Thor’s thoughts and the soldiers themselves.

“We should wait and watch. See where they will lead us. Their camp cannot be too far—”

Thor whipped his head around, anger plain in his flared nostrils and downward curve of his mouth. He rushed hot breath out through his nose and huffed at Loki.

“We kill them now.”

Loki gripped his wrist, and Thor looked ready to snap it and charge on.

“We _wait_. We see. Then you can go on and rip as many heads off as you please.”

Thor shifted his weight back, regarding Loki, before stepping forward again and closing in on him. Thor was near enough that Loki could feel his breath fan hot against his face, smell the scent of his skin a sheen of sweat clung to.

“We reach their camp and no silken word from your clever tongue will stop me.”

Loki smiled. “I had no such words planned.”

Loki did not miss the way Thor stepped back slowly, eyes flicking quickly to Loki’s mouth and back to his eyes before flitting away somewhere back in front of him. The leaves crunched softly underfoot as he started forward, slowly now.

Loki’s smile grew.

OOO

The camp was only another hour on foot.

And Thor kept true to his word.

He and Loki stood in the shade of a large trunk, surrounded by a thicket of flowers and vegetation, low branches obscuring their bulk from the view of the soldiers entering their settlement.

Thor waited only long enough for the gate to begin closing before bringing Mjolnir up and raising his arm, once, twice.

Loki’s eyes were on him as he surged into the sky, clearing the high barracks in one leap.

Thor had been unable to shake the feeling of being watched since he held Loki down by the throat, and it was that which moved his arm through the air, knocking down any who would oppose him.

Thor wanted to forget and so he would.

OOO

The fight was short, loud, and bloody.

Loki watched it all from a high branch.

The yell rose up as a chorus around the camp. The metal song of men grabbing for hilt and blade scraping axe-head, the chime of mail slipping over evening-tired limbs, the roar of shields being heaved on elbow.

Loki thought it a valiant effort, but gaudy and entirely useless. Thor was a mighty thing, unstoppable and unbreakable; in rage and body both.

Loki watched as his kin tore limb from torso, splashed blood to the bone of another, gripped the tongue of one man and halted the life of the mortal mid-roar, and knew truly he was as riled as ever.

Thor carried two sort of silences. The first being the strange, rare thing Loki had a chance to observe earlier that day. The one that left him grasping for the answer and halfway tilted off balance for it was simply _not_ like Thor.

And the second was the silence as Thor fought. Not in sound but in reason. When the lust of blood gripped Thor nothing could stop him. Loki doubted even Odin, for all his bloody knowledge and fearful skill with grand Gungnir, could sway his golden son.

OOO 

Loki slipped out of the tree and to the ground only once Thor let the last man, lifeless, drop from his bloodied grip. Mjolnir was a potent hum of sated energy, feeding off the carnage of those who were so ready to forget her.

Thor was turned away from him, a mass of heaving breath, not for anything other than the adrenaline still coursing through him. Loki knew that and so took his time stepping between the bodies, looking only at Thor and the gore that stained his clothes and skin.

“You should find a river to wash that savagery from you. Or the mortals will know who you are, for all the destruction you caused.”

Thor angled his head to the side and Loki saw the delicate curve of his eyelid blink once and then he was turning, fixing Loki with a cold stare.

Loki saw not his brother, nor any other kin there. He saw Thor, the Thunder Lord, and it made his belly quiver.

He approached Thor more slowly then, hands outstretched amicably, wanting to appear nothing but peaceful. But Thor only continued giving him that one, steady gaze and it was almost haunting to see it so fixed to his face.

Midgard had only served to further change them both.

The sky flashed then, too sudden and Loki startled back a step. The sky boomed loud and deafening and _still_ Thor had but that one look to spare him. Loki felt his bones begin to tingle as he neared, his body remembering the dread that still clung to him like plague.

“Thor?” Loki ventured.

Thor curled a lip and the sky flashed bright again, and Loki knew it was not the fallen Christians around them that were the cause of this sudden rage, not entirely.

A crackle of bright, blue light swung it’s way in quick arcs about his brother’s arms and eyes and then he took a step forward. Loki knew Thor was focusing only on him.

Loki looked to the sky once more, saw lightning begin to touch down along the farther plains, the far mountains in the distance. Saw it sparkle as a dancing threat above their heads. “Thor, do not be foolish. Let us return to the camp and you can find some battle-keen bitch to bed before you rain your shock upon us all. They _will_ know then, I can assure you.” Still, Thor continued forward.

Thor’s skin thrummed with powerful energy that _burned_ where Loki dared reach out and touch his arm. Loki’s touch grew hesitant, and he took a step back. He knew Thor’s mind most days but this, this was a battle-sheen he had not seen light Thor’s eyes in all their many long years.

It made a spike of real fear jolt through him, and it was what made him go quiet.

Thor’s gaze followed him as he turned and then there was a hand at his bicep, twisting him back around and slinging him to the ground. Somewhat stunned, Loki quirked a brow at his brother,  raising to his elbows with a question on his lips, but Thor was too far gone for speech.

He bore down upon Loki, took his neck within his hands and bit his lip hard enough to summon blood to the surface. Loki cried out in shock and then he was being hauled to his feet. Loki pushed at Thor’s chest and arms and clawed at his hands as was pushed against the great wooden beams that made up the barracks. Loki could smell him as he neared, a heady rush of blood and sweat and it was becoming so familiar, so familiar—

“You think me fool enough to endure an eon here, banished by my father? I will not suffer you and your ridiculous rules for so much as another moment, you snake. Do not tempt me to greater action against you.”

Thor’s grip around his throat tightened and Loki fought to breathe enough to laugh. It was all he could manage.

“You’re pathetic. You’re a coward.”

The grip tightened to where Loki felt a tingle radiate like an ache through his neck to his temples, throbbing. The sky flickered bright and dangerous above them, the air crackling.

“You’re afraid of me, Thor,” Loki choked out, all else be damned he wanted to see the reaction in Thor. Wanted to know.

“No,” Thor hissed. He slammed Loki back against the beam and loosened his grip enough to allow him air.

“You are,” Loki said through gasping. “You enjoy this. Me.” The thumb at his neck moved to his pulse and pressed hard. “You like it.”

“You’re a revolting creature.”

“Revolting enough to leave new bruises along my throat with tongue and teeth? Yes, then I agree, I am quite revolting.”

“Loki, do not—”

Loki could feel Thor’s chest beat heavy breaths against his own as he pinned him there. But Thor was ever the immovable force he always had been and Loki could do nothing but stand there, meeting his furious gaze with his own.

“You see to take me in a field of gore and death? Fitting.”

Thor sneered, brought Loki forward and slammed him back to where his vision swam for a long moment as Thor answered.

“You think I was in control of my actions that day? It was you who put that infernal charm on me, and I know it.”

“It was an accident.”

“Aye, it was.” Thor leaned forward, enough so that his breath met with Loki’s. “And you were thick for it despite that. You are a sick, foul thing. I will not be made to be your fool.”

“Then perhaps you should have killed me,” Loki hissed at him.

The thumb at his pulse moved to his chin and Thor turned Loki’s head to the side. Hesitance demanded a moment before Thor finally pressed his forehead to Loki’s cheek and he breathed in deeply.

“I should have done so a long time ago,” he muttered and Loki went absolutely still as he felt Thor’s lips ghost gentle at a spot on his neck.

“Thor...”

“I’m—”

Loki angled his head and parted his lips and almost carefully, Thor brought his thumb to his lower lip, tracing. Loki wanted to reach out his tongue and taste—

And then the dread sunk low in his gut and he was being pulled away.

Thor was forced to release him as Loki suddenly wrenched his head aside and collapsed to his knees, heaving.

“Loki!” Thor cried, worry and surprise diluting the anger.

“I, I don’t—” Bile rose quick and sour through his throat and onto the ground, rinsing foul with the dirt and blood beneath him. He felt dizzy and that his blood pulsed too hot. He felt like he was dying. He was coughing and Thor knelt in the mire beside him, Mjolnir to the side of him. “Magic. Runes. Someone is...someone is trying to—”

Thor’s hands hovered by Loki’s shoulders as he emptied his stomach, again and again.

Thor seemed to be drained of all that he was only moments prior, instead replaced by Thor, his brother, foolish and bumbling and too caring. Too much, too different, and the _smell_ —

The sky ripped apart with a crack and shattered, colored light flooded them both.


	8. The Setting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't take seven months for an update this time!  
> I still have drafts saved from before I even started writing the first chapter, scenes I'd planned out and built the story around. A little bit has changed since then, but I still have a strong idea where they will end up in the end.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story if you're still reading!

The light deposited them on the shining floor beneath grand Hlidskjalf. Odin sat in his throne on high, single eye glassy and judging as he looked upon them both. Loki still felt his stomach coiling in on itself and though his eyes teared up for it, he held it back. He would not loose his stomach upon the golden floor of the old one’s hall.

Thor was a prominent presence beside him, kneeling beside Loki with a hand on his back. Loki couldn’t understand how Thor could go from nearly killing him, to almost kissing him to comforting him in a matter of minutes.

Odin tapped Gungnir lightly upon the highest rung of gold but otherwise said nothing. He continued to stare down at them. Loki met his eyes weakly, limbs shaking. He felt the pull of seidr like a fisherman’s hook in the gullet and he could feel sweat dripping from his skin, soaking his collar and underarms and the places where his robes fit too tightly. Thor did not shy away from his sickness. Loki would rather bite off his own tongue than admit that the hand slowly rubbing his lower back was a grounding comfort.

Then Frigga was there.

“Mother, what is this? He’s been sick for days—”

So that is what he thought then? Loki coughed, harsh and loud and grating, but never took his sight from Odin’s. The old bird seemed cowed. The corner of his brow raised as if in concern. Loki knew better than to be fooled by it.

“What signs?” Frigga asked calmly, hands glowing a faint, rippling green as she hovered them over Loki’s shoulders. If only he could just lie his head in her hands and rest. Sleep. Find some semblance of peace, offered so rarely. If only.

“His balance falters, he sweats, he does not sleep,” Thor rushed out. Loki could hear a touch of desperation in his voice. “He hardly eats, and he wakes shaking.”

Loki blinked and threw a glare at Thor, fingers twisting his brother’s pant leg. So, he had noticed that as well?

All those nights spent listening to Thor’s breathing. Forgoing sleep to give way to darker imaginings. Memories of the last war. Memories of laughter and fire and cold seeping through his cloak to sear his skin. Waking in a fever sweat, black murk still clinging to his mind from dreams gone sour.

Thor _knew_.

And he’d not said a thing.

Loki begun turning his head back to Odin but Frigga snatched his face in her hands. A pained sound issued its way from his throat and he grimaced at himself. He allowed himself to finally close his eyes. The seidr was growing stronger. It pulled at his skin, his nerves. He could feel his bones being plucked from his body, cast upon a sheet he could not yet see.

“Seidr,” he choked out.

Thor’s voice lowered and he leaned forward. There was movement around them but Loki wasn’t sure of what. Frigga’s hands were cool against his face.

“I think he’s been having visions, Mother. He spoke of…of _someone_. I’m at a loss.”

Frigga’s fingers flexed against Loki’s temples. Then she relaxed and went back to smoothing his hair and cradling his skull. She moved a hand to his neck and then slowly over his spine. And it was as if water was rushing over him. The pain being dragged away, screaming all the while. But Frigga’s seidr was stronger, drowning it as it left his body.

Loki was shaking and hadn’t even the energy to care when Thor’s hands were all that supported his torso. He sagged against the floor, elbows weak and trembling where he tried to hold himself up. His mouth was dry and his head was throbbing. When he tried opening his eyes, barely slits, even the light was too strong to stand.

Loki felt empty.

He wondered exactly how long that seidr had been clinging to him.

The last he saw was Frigga’s robes swirling before his face as she stood, felt Thor’s strength haul him against his broad chest. Loki felt cold.

And then nothing.

\--

Loki awoke feeling lightheaded. He could hardly tip his head up before it fell back. He could tell he’d been moved to a bed and that furs were beneath him. He scanned the ceiling, the tiled stonework and runes littering the bedposts at the uppermost corners of his vision. His own room, then.

He sighed. “Etiquette for the banished trickster. Ha.”

There was shuffling near him and he knew it was Thor even before familiar blue eyes were hovering above his own. Thor smiled almost shyly.

“Mother saved you.”

“Saved me? I wasn’t aware I’d been in danger.” He tried to sit up when Thor frowned down at him, but he hardly reached a foot of height before falling back again. “Why am I weak as an infant?”

“Eir searched the seidr that Mother withdrew from you. She said it was…clinging to you. Like scales. Mother was able to remove most of it, but Eir has been peeling away the rest as the days pass. They’ve collected it and Mother has taken it to Vanaheim.”

His brow twisted. Freyja was helping, then. “How long have I been here?” Thor’s lips parted slightly. “Thor.”

“Fifteen days and eight hours. It is Saturday.”

Loki groaned. “And I suppose Odin demanded we return as soon as I opened my eyes?”

“No! No. He is as much immersed in finding out who cast the seidr as Eir is.” Then, more quietly so that Loki had to strain to hear. “Mother had been at her loom, I’ve learned. She would not let me see.”

“No,” Loki breathed, thoughts focused on Odin. “No, she wouldn’t.”

Odin. Loki knew Thor still thought some good was left in the man but Loki was not so dumb as to be taken in by the act the spearshaker so carelessly threw about. The act of father, of brother, of benevolent king to realms rotting—

“Where is your rage, brother?” Loki asked softly. He was honestly curious. “You were ready to kill me. You were ready to flatten entire realms only months ago, after we returned.”

Thor shook his head, mouth still open. He pressed his lips together, a thin, tense line and left Loki’s line of sight. Loki huffed and tried to sit up again, but it made him dizzy. Loki’s vision swam as he tried to focus on the form of his brother’s back, busy in the drawer of a dresser some feet away.

“You looked about ready to die. You were having visions, Loki. Weren’t you?” At Loki’s silence, Thor continued. “Surely that is enough to sway the mind to less…regretful actions.”

Loki laughed, once. “That is a name for it.”

“Not here, Loki. Please,” Thor said softly. He dug around and brought out small vials of what Loki assumed was medicine. They clinked together like metal chimes, the silence brighter for it.

“Then where, Thor? In your chambers? In your _bed_? You _would_ prefer your own furnishings for such deviant acts wouldn’t you? You must have bedded plenty of others to know just how hard to swing your hips without breaking the posts. How thoughtful of you. Though anywhere is better than the mud.”

Thor surprised Loki by remaining silent, ignoring the jibes. He brought out more vials. Then he walked across the room and began creaking open old tomes.

“Be careful with those, you will tarnish the parchment,” Loki told him thinly. His voice was weaker than he’d have liked, but Thor flipped carefully. He was being gentle, mindful of the warning.

Loki was quiet for a long time, listening to the crisp curl of paper flipping. Again and again and again. His eyes raked over the stone high above him. “You wield lust and violence in your fists as equal things, don’t you? You handle carnage as one would art, and you handle most admonishments as one would a babe.”

“Why are you telling me these things, brother?” Thor murmured, the sound carrying across the distance. He continued flipping through book after book, reading passages Loki had no way of knowing. He had no idea what cause Thor had to research right this moment, unless it had to do with what vial related to what need.

“Because you are so fond of switching between being of the mind of fucking to the mind of crushing quicker than even I can fool Tyr into thinking his hand is still in Fenrir’s gut.”

That brought a laugh from Thor’s belly, deep and full and Loki smiled at it.

“Perhaps I am prompted to brashness as you are so prompted to mischief. I hardly think it out of my talents.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose, high. He fiddled with the fur at his sides with his fingers, wondering how it would feel to have it cling to sweat and skin. “You claim you are a shifting creature? Please.”

“One can shift shapes without changing their face.” Thor walked back over and brought an unstoppered vial to tip out onto his fingertips. It smelled of clover and wheat. Thor lowered the oil to Loki’s forehead, the skin just under his eyes, the corners of his nostrils. Thor thumbed a drop each to the corners of his mouth and pinched his cheek when Loki felt heat crawl slowly to his face. Thor noticed, a fond smile tugging amusedly at his lips. “That is something you would know.”

Thor spoke of seidr and it was seidr that acted within him in accordance to the might of Mjolnir. But Loki had seen Thor’s eyes alight with bright lightning. Had seen the grey murk of brain and intestine litter the ground and paint Thor’s arms in violent clashes of ruddy color. He had smelt the death on Thor’s skin as he’d pressed close enough to reach out and snatch his tongue between his lips. And Loki had wanted it. He had wanted it all.

Thor spoke of one sort of shifting but Loki knew it as a weak-hearted thing in the face of such boundless rage and power. Knew it as the flickering image it was for Thor now was before him as a soft and smiling creature with careful touches. Two worlds, wholly separate, yet housed in the same body. It was baffling.

Loki brought an arm up, pleased to find he could at least do that, and caught Thor’s hand in his. He leaned his face into Thor’s palm and didn’t take his sight from Thor’s.

Thor’s smile grew, close-lipped and peeking at the corners. A smile from his youth Loki would always tease him for. But here it was thoughtful and made heat bloom in Loki’s belly.

It didn’t feel such a shame to reveal some manner of the vulnerability of it here, in his own bed chambers. He still felt lighter with the absence of whoever it had been calling on him. He no longer felt like someone was trying to rip his magic apart, his _self_.

“I’m sorry, Loki.”

Loki let Thor’s hand drift back to his side. Thor sat at the edge of his bed, his hip pressing against Loki’s thigh.

“There is quite a long list of apologies owed to me of you, you will have to elaborate.”

Thor huffed at him. “I was enraged. You’ve seen me fight.”

“Aye, I have. And it is a rare thing indeed to see blood so boldly fly.”

Thor shook his head, not rising to Loki’s mirth. He quieted.

“I was of another mind. I was angry. I _am_ angry. At all of this, at what its come to be. At what its cost us. At how far we’ve come since Thiazi’s hall.”

Loki saw as Thor’s bright eyes blinked once, twice, shining as the moments passed. Loki forced himself to an elbow, then the other.

“Thor.”

Thor’s laughter then was cracked and shaky.

“I fear we’re broken, Loki.”

Loki went still. He didn’t dare suspect. Could not have ever thought Thor to echo his thoughts. It felt a personal theft, stealing from his own mind, his heart. And Thor, just Thor to utter that very thought aloud, as if it was common knowledge.

But Thor hung his head and his hands passed the vial weakly back and forth, back and forth. Common knowledge to them alone, perhaps, and no one else. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Loki felt his heart thud as he watched as Thor’s eyes well over and tears fell past his cheeks to land on the furs beneath them. Loki was enraptured, enthralled. He had half the mind to collect them, save them for when he needed them most. For when he finally drained Thor of all goodwill he held towards the one he still stubbornly called brother. For when he could hardly spare the thought of a tear fallen for someone so ruined.

For when Thor truly hunted him in the woods of Asgard, of Midgard, of any realm and sought his skull with the great weight of Mjolnir. When Thor would seek to tug at his entrails and not his heartstrings, his lips. When he desired to touch his fingers to the spilt red of Loki’s blood painting bare ribs and not to the soft curves of flesh between his thighs. When Thor saw Loki as Loki and not his brother. The fool never had another name for him, despite the long and woven history that spanned eons between them, between he and Odin.

Loki’s limbs burned as he pushed himself to sitting upright. He carefully took Thor’s chin in his hand, bracing himself on the other. He could barely see for how tremulous his vision was and so he shut his eyes. Thor’s breath fanned cool and erratic over his face.

“I’ve wanted to kill you more than once, you know. It’s hardly a rarity for us.”

Thor shuddered weak laughter at that and Loki braced himself. Loki closed the distance and brought their lips together. Thor’s lips were tinged in salt.

Thor sucked in a breath, tensing. He hadn’t been expecting it. But then Loki felt Thor’s hands go to his hip and neck respectively, flexing at the skin covered by loose linen and wrapped in soft furs. Loki pulled back and pressed forward again, taking Thor’s bottom lip between his and sucking gently. Thor repeated the motion and then licked into Loki’s mouth, pressing closer, hot breath making their cheeks ruddy.

“I’m sorry, Loki. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, brother…”

Loki wound his hand in Thor’s hair, tugging so that Thor had not the chance for thoughts of escape or other responsibilities to worm their way inside his head. Loki let out a soft, throaty groan as Thor sucked his tongue lightly.

Loki’s arm was beginning to quaver and Thor seemed to realize. An arm came round to wrap around his back and then Loki was pressed to Thor tightly, his shaky arms free to cling to each other over Thor’s shoulders.

Breathing in Thor felt like shaking the very sky apart and so Loki allowed himself to indulge. Allowed himself to be buried. Allowed himself to swallow the wind.

\--

“It surges against its bonds as if it yet lives. I’ve yet to bind it adequately. It will not relent.”

“Seidr is a thriving thing. The bindings of the living have no bearing on the spaces between, and the caster of this is no weakling. They know the workings of the worlds. And this is still yet powerful enough to force my limits. If I stray from concentration, it will break through and return to your boy. Whoever muttered this darkness to being craves to know where Loki is. For what reason, I am not yet privy.”

Frigga regarded Freyja seriously. Her hall shone with its marbleize floors and soft quilts and yellowed silks hanging from the rafters and draping over columns. Frey stood some distance apart, watching the proceedings.

Frigga came close to Freyja and leaned over to see the glowing orb her friend was helping to suspend.

“I had thought you capable of dealing with such wild magic. I am glad to know I was right.” She smiled when Freyja elbowed her lightly.

“We are as close as sisters, you and I. I am happy to help in any way I can. The trouble is learning who sent it after Loki in the first place. How fares he?”

“He is sleeping. Thor watches him.” Freyja hummed at that. “He was as sick as if a curse had wrought his bones.”

“It is likely. This is not taking the setting I would place it in.” Frey approached as Freyja raised her eyes quickly. She was trying to push the obstinate seidr into that of a gem. She was fond of practical solutions. “Here, brother. Help me with this, if you will.”

“Aye, dear sister. Pardon, my Lady Queen.”

Frigga inclined her head and stepped aside as she watched the twins set in to work.

Frigga knew Vanaheim as a place of deep, ancient seidr. Runework even Odin craved in his day. She knew it had been Freyja in those early days—as young as the sprouting Ashling itself had once been, before the realms took their true shapes—to bring such rich magic to Asgard. Knew the echo of her wild, warring husband in the depth of Freyja’s bright, depthless eyes, in the cut of her auspicious grin. That it had been, Norns willing, a large part due to Freyja that Odin knew the call of runes at all.

And, as in a shade of the past, Frigga had delivered half of the seidr to Freyja, the other to lie upon Odin’s tired shoulders. The magic surged and roiled in hand as a soul seeking life after death would, and so Frigga thought it appropriate. Half to the taker and half to traded.

Odin had not seen exactly who cast it. And that was rare indeed, for something to so elude him.

Frigga felt her heart split three ways; between her husband, her boys, and the stone wavering in the air between the pretty Vanir twins before her.

If only just.

\--

“I notice Balder does not bother us,” Loki voiced to the air.

Thor was sinking the chair beside his bed, head low against the back of it. He had not slept since they’d arrived.

“Father tells me he is with the Norns.”

“Hel damn him,” Loki breathed. He glanced at Thor, his hair spilling along his pillow. His eyes were wide. “He is practically still a boy. What business has he with those wretches?”

Thor’s eyes sought the ceiling. “I know not. But it must be serious indeed for such a journey. Father has faith he will return.”

“He sticks his nose where it does not belong. I wonder if he could even find the roots.”

Thor’s lips quirked. “Perhaps Nidhogg tripped him and he turned back.”

“No,” Loki said, grin growing. “The fool would trip twice more before realizing the deep knocking he heard all around him was chewing. Then he would be too far in to turn back.”

“Ah, the poor boy.”

And they were laughing. Giggling with each other like children.

“He should be returning soon,” Thor said, after the laughter went soft. “He left shortly after we were sent to Midgard.”

“Banished.”

“Aye, that,” Thor muttered. He closed his eyes and sagged further in his chair. Loki saw his leg jittering, foot tapping.

“You’re nervous for him?”

“Of course I am. He is my little brother.”

“He is a blundering fool. He should have kept to singing.”

Thor sighed and laced his fingers together.

The memory of the Norns speaking to him still sat fresh in his mind and so Loki had no remorse over Balder, young and sweetly innocent for all his brooding moods, and what fate saw fit to deal him. Loki was never fond of him. Balder had gone straight from blushing toddler to blushing adult and sat twiddling his lyre for birds, stuffing his face with pastries and finely seeded jams.

Loki would be pleased if he never saw Balder again.

“Fool though he is, he will return. He does at least know which way to point his sword should he have need of swinging it.” The assurance was for Thor alone, and though the words burned on their way out, it was worth it for Thor’s flicker of a smile.

“Let us hope.”

Thor’s confidence was vexing. Loki wondered at it, _still_. It set his stomach to turning and then it gurgled loudly enough for Thor to hear. He chuckled.

“I will bring you some supper.”

“Let me at least try at walking. I won’t have you waiting on me.”

“You would and you know it.” Loki grinned. Thor stood and adjusted the tunic he wore, a deep grey with blue lining the collar. “Rest for now, Loki.”

“I would rather us be on Midgard right now to be honest with you.” He could afford a small confession. Loki still felt light enough to part with small secrets. He was in a mood to have words roll from his tongue, and that in itself was a dangerous mood to be in.

Thor stopped and bowed, bringing their lips together. Loki rose to his elbows, strong enough this moment for the action to comply steadily with the rest of him. His seidr was still curiously settled within him, as if it was swimming along the lining of his belly, rather than spreading to reach from his fingers.

“Rest, Loki. We’ll have time to ourselves soon enough. And we have business with Roan besides. We must return, and soon.”

Loki nodded, not arguing the logic in that. He’d nearly forgotten the scales they owed him.

“Did you collect a trinket from the Christians?”

Thor’s eyebrows ascended and Loki sighed quietly. “We’ll have to stop back and get something. Perhaps a cross. They will accept that.”

“We’ll have to,” Thor said, thoughts wandering to what Loki assumed was the fight.

“He’ll think us dead,” Loki said, thinking of the weeks he’d spent asleep.

“All the better to return laden with treasures. He won’t have a doubt in his mind after that.”

It was Loki’s turn to smirk. He repeated Thor’s earlier words, “Let us hope.”

Thor smiled and ran a hand through Loki’s hair, tousling it. Then he was walking out the door, locking it as he went so no one would disturb Loki. Loki half suspected there to be a charm upon the door to seal it besides, but it hardly mattered.

\--

When they finished eating, Loki full of the fruit and cheeses he had missed, Thor lazily picking at their shared loaf of bread, he clasped his hands in his lap.

“It’s been two weeks and it is Saturday. I can smell the sweat on my skin and my hair I don’t even want to try.”

Thor was watching him with a small quirk of the lips. He picked apart a hunk of bread and nibbled the pieces until they disappeared with a bob of his throat.

“I assume our bath still functions?”

“Aye. I’ve cheated a few days. I’ve missed the heat of the water.”

“That is a charm you thankless baboon,” Loki chided. But Thor was grinning.

He set down the bread and cleared the food from the spread of Loki’s bed. Loki could shake the crumbs from them later, he wanted to bathe and _soon_. He shuffled until his legs fell over the side of the bed and he could place them both firmly on the floor.

Thor was beside him the next moment, arms around his sides to help him stand.

“It’s been hardly any time at all, I shouldn’t be _this_ weak. It’s shameful.”

“Hardly. Mother drew dark seidr from you. It looked a fright.”

“Oh, to view such clever magic in so simple a term. I envy you, dear Thor.” Thor bit his cheek gently in response and it had Loki laughing.

“You will miss my arms around you when you are sinking to the bottom of the basin. Just wait.”

“How frightening.”

Thor sat Loki at the first step that descended into the bath. It was a large chamber, tiled in stone and indeed charmed to warm. Loki preferred to bathe cold only when he had a river at hand and nothing more. Thor pulled on the lever in the wall for water, the motion rhythmic and missed, and soon the basin was filling with warm water.

Loki sunk farther down, strength not so much an issue when one can float. He settled upon the lowest step, his neck and head remaining above the water to watch as Thor dunked his head and rinsed his hair.

“I’ve enjoyed that bloody freezing river as much as I enjoyed being banished in the first place,” Loki said as he watched Thor scrub suds across his back and chest.

“I might just stay here. Hide in this very bath and never leave. Banishment be damned.”

“Odin will have to drag you out by the hair, you know,” Loki said, smirking.

“I doubt he would bother even undressing to spare his armor.”

“With any luck his armor would rust.”

“Then he would have the task of squeezing out of it.”

Loki hid his grin beneath the surface of the water, but openly watched as Thor laughed joyfully at the image.

“Then Mother would have to break him out of it.”

“I think she’d let him figure it out. We can hope.”

Loki sunk the rest of the way beneath the water and surged back up, hair drenched. Thor handed him a bar of soap wordlessly. Loki scrubbed at his neck and behind his ears, moving to the jut of bone at his shoulders. He tried to stand to reach the rest but Thor took the chance from him. He hoisted Loki aloft and sat him at the edge of the basin, rear pressing against cold stone. He shivered, despite the warmth of Thor’s hands trailing the soap over his chest.

“Thor.”

“Please,” he said, so quiet.

Loki let him.

Thor rubbed the soap over his skin languidly, but quickly enough so that the lye did not linger for long. He stopped shortly to rinse after every few swipes of the bar and Loki felt the sting of air fresh against his skin.

Thor scrubbed at the fur under Loki’s arms, swirling around the roundel of the shoulder and down across the jut of his shoulder blades. Loki leaned into him, eyes sliding shut. Thor splashed water up along his sides and down his back, carelessly soaking the stonework of the floor. He moved on to Loki’s sides and backed away enough to soap at his belly and the strong lines of his hips. His thumbs rubbed smooth across his skin and Loki felt his belly quaver, warmth flooding through him.

Thor’s mouth rested gently against his cheek as Loki draped his arms over Thor’s shoulders. Thor brought yet another wave of water to flow over his skin, rinsing down his stomach. Then he brought the bar to the tops of Loki’s thighs and scrubbed the soap between his hands and set it down. He rubbed Loki’s hips and the crease of his thighs, even going as far as to knead Loki’s rear. Loki’s arms around Thor’s neck were all that was keeping him standing and he was breathing hard against Thor’s cheek. Thor mouthed soft motions against his ear, breath washing warm over his skin.

Then Thor’s hands grew brave and he soaped the soft curves of Loki’s cock and the smattering of hair just above. He scrubbed Loki’s sac gently and then lower, to the insides of the thighs, then farther still. Loki shuddered quick breaths out, one after another.

Thor dipped his hands and followed the same path with water, soothing the sting as he went. He took care to wash him thoroughly. Then he was crowding Loki’s space, face pulled back to see. Loki opened his eyes to slits and met Thor’s mouth with his own.

They kissed slowly for a time, enjoying the sway of warmth around them, the humid air of the bath making them sweat slightly. Loki murmured Thor’s name against his lips and Thor smiled.

“Come on. You still need to rest.”

They finished their bathing, Thor helping Loki up once more after he submerged a final time, rinsing the lingering suds from his skin. Thor kneaded Loki’s scalp with scented oil and a bit of honey, washing it thoroughly so the strands did not tangle. Loki wanted to run his hands through Thor’s hair, soak it with suds and braid it before they slept, to see how it would wave and curl in the morning. But he still had trouble with his legs and so he let it go, content enough just then to simply watch Thor go through his own routine.

Thor helped him walk back to the bed and Loki collapsed into it, burrowing under the furs and clearing a space for Thor beside him.

“If Odin calls—”

“Let the prune see. I would have your body against mine.”

“Loki…”

Loki frowned and grasped Thor’s wrist. He gave way enough for a knee to light upon the furs.

“The door is sealed with seidr. Please, Thor.”

Thor watched Loki a moment longer, then blinked. He settled into the bed behind his brother and pressed close so that Loki could reach back and pull Thor’s arm around him. Thor held his wrist and traced the skin fondly with a thumb.

“Wake me should I begin sleeping for another two weeks.”

Thor huffed a laugh against Loki’s neck and followed it with a kiss. Then they fell to sleep.


End file.
